


The Prince’s Fancy

by Whispered_Rumor



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Asexual Character, Blood Drinking, Blood Mages, Blood Magic, Canon-Typical Violence, Daedra, Daedric Princes, Demons, Dimensional Travel, M/M, Mages and Templars, Magic, The Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, Vampire Lord, Vampires, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2018-10-23 07:46:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 50,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10715214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whispered_Rumor/pseuds/Whispered_Rumor
Summary: ON HOLD // When the Breach is opened in Thedas, it tears more than just the Veil. Hermaeus Mora takes the opportunity to send a Champion to retrieve the knowledge he himself has no access to. And the Dragonborn finds himself roped into another world-saving quest.





	1. Hello, Champion

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first real fanfiction. Usually I write about the popular creepypasta characters, but this one has been on my mind for a long time. Go easy on me? Anyway, enjoy.

Volyn sat back, reclining into the chair as he closed his eyes. To his left, in the rooms just beyond the wall, he could hear the rest of the Family stirring to life. Save for Babette of course, who shared his state of being. The sun was rising and he felt the call of sleep just as everyone else was rousing.

In the months following Alduin’s defeat, Volyn, had been very busy. Splitting his time between Castle Volkihar and the Sanctuary was easy enough with Serana and her mother’s help, but contracts had been flooding in once word got out the Dark Brotherhood had assassinated the Emperor.

Dragons loyal to Alduin had also become a problem. They had a nasty habit of attacking him while he was traveling, but that wasn’t even the ‘problem’ part. They also liked eating livestock and townsfolk, and burning towns, to get his attention. Then people would look to him to save them, even when the guards had it under control. It wasn’t like Alduin was still around to raise them from the grave again!

The Dunmer opened his eyes, deciding it was time for a bit of actual rest. He stripped down and crawled under the covers.

When he woke, it was nearly sundown. He was glad he’d slept so well, and was reluctant to get up, but he had work to do.

As he redressed in his armor, the black armor of the Brotherhood, he noticed one of the books on his shelf giving off a green glow. He realized this wasn’t just a book, but a Black Book, one he’d collected from Soltheim. Hermaeus Mora was calling.

Taking a deep breath, Volyn slid the book from the shelf and opened it. Instantly, black-green tentacles shot up from the pages, giving the Dunmer a start though he knew it would happen, and wrapped about him, tugging him inside.

 _No matter how many times that happens, I shall never grow used to it,_ he thought, eyes unfocused, legs wobbly. Even his vampiric body had a hard time with traveling to Oblivion.

“Hello, Champion.”

That was surely the Prince’s voice. Volyn had become quite familiar with the slow cadence of his voice.

“My Lord,” Volyn greeted, looking up.

He was standing on one of the black walkways floating above the greenish sea of…whatever that stuff was. And hovering five feet above the walkway in front of him was the Daedric Prince in the usual form of several eyes with thick tentacles waving in all directions. The eyes moved and blinked independently of each other.

“I have need of you,” the Prince said, “You must retrieve knowledge which is hidden from me.”

 _Not another dwemer box,_ the vampire hoped.

“There are other realms beyond Nirn. You shall be traveling to one such place.”

“Will it be another plane of Oblivion?” Volyn asked.

“No. Imagine Nirn as a sphere. Within this sphere are your plane, Oblivion, Sovengarde, and so on. These places are separate, but connected. Tied. You will be going to another sphere entirely.”

Volyn was startled, but had seen so much at this point, he wasn’t _really_ surprised. “But my Lord, if these worlds are separate, how am I to travel there?”

“There have been…ripples. Something has been set in motion that shall allow travel, though the window will be brief, I believe.”

“And how shall I return?”

Hermaeus Mora chuckled, a sound that shot shivers up the vampire’s spine. As he did so, the writhing mass of tentacles jutting from the dark center behind the many eyes _quivered_. One of the tendrils brushed Volyn’s face, leaving a slimy trail across his cheek. He forced himself not to wipe it away, though it made him itch not to.

“I would not leave my Champion stranded. Take with you one of my Black Books and it will bring you back here, to Apocrypha, easily allowing me to return you to your own mortal plane.”

“Is that a certainty, or speculation?” the Dunmer dared ask.

The Prince pretended not to hear. “Prepare yourself, Champion. You leave in the early evening of Fredas. You must be at the summit of the Throat of the World, where time and space has already been torn by the Elder Scroll. And don’t forget the Book.”

Volyn woke coughing hysterically, lying next to the now closed Black Book. There was green residue still on his cheek.

 _Wonderful,_ he thought, _just what I needed to add to my schedule._

Fredas was only two days away, leaving him little time to prepare everything.

He rose from the floor, leaving the Book where it lay. As he did so, he heard footsteps fast approaching. He knew those footsteps.

“Listener, are you all right?” came the high voice from the hallway, just before a certain jester burst through the door.

“I’m fine, Cicero,” Volyn replied. “But I’ve just received some…news. Call the Family together. In the common area. We don’t have much time.”

“Of course, of course! Right away, Listener!” the Fool of Hearts said cheerily, then turned on his heels and headed off.

Meanwhile, Volyn retrieved his pack, placing only his essentials into it. The Book, a set of regular clothes and boots, two blood potions, a few vials of paralytic poison, and his quiver of arrows. He decided not to bring any ingredients or money. If he was entering another world, bringing too many foreign objects he couldn’t explain could get him into trouble.

For this reason, he left Auriel's Bow and Dawnbreaker on their respective weapon racks, choosing instead to take the Blade of Woe and an ebony bow he’d enchanted himself. He’d named this bow Heartrend for its powerful life drain effect and his own accuracy with the weapon. They were far less conspicuous than the previously mentioned weapons, what with their holy glow and whatnot.

He left the gathered items on the table, then headed out to meet the rest of the Family. They were all assembled, either sitting at the tables or standing.

“You have news, do you?” Nazir asked as soon as he saw Volyn. He was, as usual, standing with his arms crossed, leaned against the stone wall.

“I do,” Volyn replied, “It seems I’m going to be going on a bit of a journey. I’d rather not go into details, but I have no way of avoiding this trip. I don’t know how long I will be gone.”

There was silence among the Family. Which was considerably larger than when Volyn had first joined. Besides Nazir, Babette, and Cicero, they had gained seven new members in the last few months. Soon, perhaps they would be able to re-establish the Black Hand and various other Sanctuaries.

 _Not with this setback,_ Volyn’s mind taunted.

“But, where will you be going?” one of these new members asked, a young Nord woman named Brisa.

“I can’t say. Only know that I cannot avoid it. While I’m gone, Malcar, please continue teaching Lars.” The high elf nodded. Volyn looked to Nazir. “I will be giving you a list of contracts, and it is long, believe me, and you will be in charge of giving them out. Babette, continue giving the newest recruits lessons in poison making, if you wouldn’t mind, and Cicero, take good care of Mother.”

Cicero’s eyes widened. “But of course, Listener! Don’t I always?”

Volyn smiled, just a little. After reading the jester’s journals, he had a bit of a soft spot for the madman. Not that he’d ever admit that to anyone. The Listener of the Dark Brotherhood having a soft spot? Certainly not.

“Yes, but she’ll have no Listener until I return,” Volyn pointed out, “And I wouldn’t want her to be lonely.”

Looking as solemn as he ever did, Cicero nodded. If there was anything the Dunmer could count on, it was the fervent devotion Cicero had to the Night Mother.

“And for the love of Sithis, _don’t_ get killed. We are few enough as it is,” Volyn told them. Each member of the Family nodded.

After addressing the Family, Volyn returned to his room to retrieve his bag and make the list of potential contracts. Before he disappeared, he wanted to make sure everything in his life was settled, just in case. Was he perhaps thinking a little too much about this? Maybe. But better to be safe than sorry. He’d learned that very early in life, growing up on the Waterfront District of the Imperial City.

He shook _those_ memories from his head. His life was much better now. He had a purpose, people that accepted him, and money with which to buy whatever he wished. _And you’d better pray that it is all still here if you return._

Before leaving, Volyn knelt on one knee before the Night Mother, head down and eyes closed. He thought, _Mother,_ _I must go. Hermaeus Mora has called upon me and demands I travel to another world. I am unsure of how long I will be gone, or even if I can return. I’m sorry. But I feel I’ve left the Family in capable hands. So long as they obey my orders and stick to the Tenets, all should be well._

 _I know of your predicament, my son,_ came the voice into his head, _Worry not. I have given your Brothers and Sisters much to do. And I know you will return to me. One way or another._

The thought was more comforting than Volyn could express.

Outside the Sanctuary, in the cutting cold of northern Skyrim, he summoned Arvak to his side. The skeletal horse whinnied as he appeared, forming from the grey and purple mists of the Soul Cairn. He mounted the creature and rode off.

           -----

Just before sunup, the misty visage of Castle Volkihar appeared before the Listener. It rose from the horizon like a mountain in the center of the ocean. Volyn doubted any mortal eyes could detect it from where he stood.

He was impressed with his time. Had Arvak been any normal horse, he would surely be dead. However, thankfully, Arvak was _already_ dead. Volyn dismounted and dismissed Arvak, who snorted and pawed the ground once before crumbling into nothing.

Volyn greeted the human thralls that defended the gates and continued inside. It looked as it always did, really. Dark and cold, though none of the inhabitants minded. He certainly didn’t. And thralls kept the place clean, save for occasional blood spots you could find after a Death Hound had wandered by.

Garen Marethi met him as he descended the stairs into the main dining hall.

“Good to see you back, my Lord.”

“Thank you, Garen, but I’m afraid I won’t be here long. Has anything happened while I was gone?”

“Nothing we couldn’t handle,” came a woman’s voice from beside him.

Serana stood in the doorway to the forge room, the slightest sheen of sweat on her forehead, sword still in her hand. She’d been training, apparently.

“Nice to see you, Serana,” Volyn said, smiling.

“You too, Mr. Hero.” Her pet name for him, ever since releasing her from that vault. “Been a while since we’ve seen you. Busy?”

“My Lord,” Garen said, making a sharp, sort bow before dismissing himself from the conversation.

“Quite. The Brotherhood had grown and it seems work is never done. Will people ever stop wishing death upon one another?”

Serana smiled, sheathing her blade. “Probably not. From what I’ve seen, at least. So what brings you back this time?”

Ah. The news. He gave a sigh.

“Come with me. I’d rather not discuss it here.”

Since even before Harkon’s death, whenever they had something sensitive to discuss, the pair would meet in the garden. No one ever went there, even after the rubble had been cleared away so there was an easy path.

They sat on the far side, across from the door to the dining hall. Valerica and her daughter had begun working on the garden again after Harkon was dead. Their work was paying off. Alchemical ingredients and simple flowers blossomed now in great abundance, giving the air a good, natural fragrance.

“I have to leave on a sudden…journey. It’s a task given to me by Hermaeus Mora. I cannot refuse, as you can probably imagine.”

“You make acquaintances in strange places, my friend,” she answered.

“That I do. And I suspect I will find more on my trip. This is no simple task I’ve been handed. The Prince is sending me to some other world.”

Volyn related what the Daedric Prince had told him, earning a steady, though stunned, gaze from Serana the entire time. It was one of the qualities he liked about Serana; she actually listened when others spoke, unlike most here at the castle.

“That sounds dangerous. And possibly a one-way trip.”

Volyn shrugged. “I didn’t know if I’d be able to return from Sovengarde either, yet I went.”

“The fate of the world was a good motivator,” Serana pointed out.

“The possibility of punishment by a creature entirely composed of eyes and tentacles is also a good motivator,” Volyn replied dryly.

Serana laughed. “Yeah, I would think so.”

“So, that’s why I came. I wanted to let you know and make sure everything was fine here.”

“Like I said before, nothing we can’t handle. Mother and I can keep things under control. Be safe on your trip, okay?”

Volyn nodded. “I will. As safe as I ever am, anyway.”

“Are you staying here tonight?” Serana asked.

The dark elf nodded. “I need to be present here. And I enjoy your company.”

Serana raised an eyebrow. “Oh do you now?”

Both knew their relationship was purely platonic, but they often joked as if it were not.

Once composed, Volyn asked, “I saw you were training. Would you like a sparring partner?”

\-----

It was nearly time. Volyn sat by the broken Word Wall, waiting for whatever was going to happen. The Prince, as usual, hadn’t been exactly direct about what was going to go on tonight. Was it going to be something dramatic, like Aludin’s death? Or was it going to be something underwhelming, such as being named Thane?

 _We’ll see_ , he thought.

Through the snow, he could see the ripples where the Scroll had ripped the dimensions, looking almost like heat rising from hot stones despite the whipping snow.

The dark elf looked to the horizon. Though the sun had long since disappeared behind clouds, he could feel that it was almost time for it to set.

As the time drew closer, the more nervous he became. A new world. One which even the Daedric Prince of Knowledge had no information on. Would he survive this trip? Would his magic work? What sort of people did it have?

_Don’t think of that now. It isn’t as though you have a choice._

Something was happening at the Time Wound. A green light was sparking behind it, like green lightning. Perhaps this is what he was waiting for. Now what? Walk into it? Should he have brought the Elder Scroll?

The light got brighter and a strange sound could be heard now, the creak of someone heavy walking across a wooden floor. The light came in intervals, pulsing, but faster now. Volyn wasn’t sure he wanted to be any closer than he was now, but curiosity got the better of him.

Slowly, the mer rose and took careful steps towards the tear. A moth to a flame.

Then everything exploded into green light.


	2. Mystries Upon Mysteries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dragonborn arrives in Thedas, much to the surprise of the future Inquisition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The primary language in Cyrodiil is Tamrielic-Common, according to many comments over on fanfiction.net. Didn't want to simply call it Common, however, because that sounds like a really generic cop out.

Velthorn had never seen a Pride Demon in person and especially not outside the Fade. But that is most definitely what the creature they faced now had to be.

It was huge and intimidating. It chuckled at their attempts to harm it as it swatted attackers away like flies. Could they stop this thing, even with all the archers, even with the Seeker, Cassandra, and Varric and Solas? They had to, didn’t they?

The elf knew he couldn’t be responsible for the destruction of the Conclave. He could never be involved with something like that. He _knew_ that. But the mark on his hand could help put things right and he wasn’t about to sit idly by as more death happened around him, responsible or no.

Lifting the staff he’d found on their way up, Velthorn shot a bolt of frost magic at the demon. Unfortunately, it fizzled out once it hit that chitin-like hide. Arrows bounced away and sword strikes did the same. Cassandra was getting frustrated; he could see that even from behind her.

 _It’s protected,_ Velthorn realized. He looked to the Rift above them, then thrust his hand towards it.

Instantly, a line of green connected him to it, a thread of lightning crackling through the air. It stung and tingled, but Velthorn just grit his teeth and kept his hand raised.

The Rift exploded and something happened to the Pride Demon as well. A shock of green hit it in the face and it fell to one knee, interrupting its next attack.

“There! Strike it now!” Solas shouted, recognizing that its defenses had been weakened by attacking the Rift directly.

Next to Velthorn, Leliana shot off three arrows in as many seconds, one hitting the demon dead in the eye and the other two burying into its flesh. It howled with pain and locked its remaining three eyes on the woman, infuriated. It lifted one arm and a ball of blue lightning formed in its hand and came directly at her.

Both she and Velthorn leaped out of the way in the nick of time. As the attack hit the ground, it sent a spray of dust and bits of stone everywhere.

The elf rose, rubbing his hands together. He’d scraped them both on the way down. But no time to worry about that. He retrieved his dropped staff and began to fire off magical bolts at the creature, not bothering with other spells at the moment. The only other spell he knew was chain lightning anyway, which wouldn’t help in the least. Good thing this staff was made to convert his magic into bolts of frost.

The creature swung an arm out, nearly striking Cassandra, but the Seeker moved out of the way and took advantage, swinging her sword out and slicing several of the demon’s fingers clean off.

Now it roared, clearly enraged, and tried to grab her with its uninjured hand, but she took a swipe at that too and cut its palm. Reflexively, the hand retreated, giving Cassandra an opportunity.

With a shout, the Seeker took aim and thrust the sword upward, into the creature’s chest. It howled and grabbed at her, but she kept shoving, driving the sword deeper until finally, the creature fell to both knees and dissolved into dark grey mist, which was sucked upward and into the still open Rift. With nothing to hold it up, her sword clattered to the ground.

“Now! Close it!” she shouted. “Before more of them come through!”

Velthorn once more thrust his hand at the Rift, the line connecting them again, but he could feel the difference. Nothing was keeping the Rift here any longer, and now it was closing. The energy lanced up and down his arm, making it hard to keep it steady.

The Rift exploded again, momentarily blinding everyone in the vicinity, and also sending a shock of energy throughout the elf, causing him to cry out in surprise and knocking him off his feet. He hit the ground several feet away and lay still.

At the same time, the line that had connected the Rift to the Breach above retracted, almost too quickly to see. And the following shockwave bent the trees and could be felt miles away, sending everyone else onto their backsides.

As the dust cleared and everyone regained sight, they took stock of what had happened. Cassandra saw her prisoner lying on the ground, unconscious, the mark on his hand sparking once, twice, then calming.

“Something’s happening,” Solas said, pointing upward at the Breach.

It too sparked once, twice, then stilled. _Then_ something shot out of it, falling like a green meteorite, headed directly for them.

“Another demon?” Cassandra asked, taking up a fighting stance.

“We’re about to find out,” Varric told her.

It crashed about twenty feet to their right. They all waited and watched. Nothing emerged from the dust. Cassandra picked up her blade and began to advance.

The others heard her say, “What… _is_ that?” and came her way.

“Uhh, that’s a very good question,” Varric said.

“Solas, is it a demon?” Cassandra asked.

Solas examined the being before him. They were clearly out cold and looked like an elf. Except for the ashen grey skin, which looked like it should belong on some bloated corpse. But they were breathing, slowly. That was no corpse.

“I don’t believe so. It doesn’t feel like a demon,” he answered. Though he kept the fact that it didn’t feel like a human, elf, or any other race he had ever seen. There was power here, but it wasn’t anything he had ever felt. He would need more time to examine this being without prying eyes.

“Wonderful. More mysteries.” Cassandra sighed. “Is the Breach sealed?”

The apostate looked up. He looked _out_. He felt the Breach. Sealed? No. But temporarily closed.

“It is not. But from what I can tell, it _is_ closed, albeit, temporarily. I’d like to examine his mark when we return to Haven,” he said, looking back towards Velthorn, who was being lifted by one of the soldiers. “The two are connected and we can learn just as much about the Breach from that mark.”

“And what about this guy?” Varric asked, gesturing at the newcomer.

“It goes in the dungeon, until we can determine its origins,” Cassandra said. No one argued with her. “Let’s get back to Haven. I have a feeling this is not the end of our problems.”

\-----

His head ached. All he could see were flashes of bright green light. And it was a commonly known fact that vampires and light don’t exactly go together.

Volyn tried to move his hands, but couldn’t. _What? Oh. I love waking up in shackles. That always bodes well._

He opened his eyes, taking quick note of what was around him. Which was mostly nothing. A typical dungeon cell. How dull. But it wouldn’t be a good first impression if he were to break himself out, stealthily or not. No one took kindly to their prisoners disappearing.

Unless it was Markarth. In which case, they could care less, apparently, if their prisoners died or escaped, or were even guilty. Considering he had killed everyone in that gods forsaken mine and left without any repercussions.

He could hear a heartbeat in front of him. He moved towards the front of the cell and saw what he assumed was a guard sitting in a chair, watching the entrance of the room.

_Do they speak my language here?_

“Excuse me,” Volyn said, attempting to get the guard’s attention.

The guard started and looked back at him. His eyes widened and stifled a gasp. Then he ran off, leaving Volyn alone.

_Is that a no?_

The dark elf sat back against the bars. Likely the guard was off informing his captors they had a daedra in shackles or something like that. But this didn’t mean diplomacy wouldn’t work. Perhaps they would believe he didn’t remember anything? First and foremost, he needed more information.

Footsteps were approaching. Three pairs. Three heartbeats. And three people came through the door. The first was a woman, outfitted in armor with an eye-shaped emblem on the front. Her short black hair was windblown and all three smelled of the outdoors. She seemed angry. Or was that just her face?

The second was an elf. A _bald_ elf. He had a look of superiority similar to many Thalmor Volyn had encountered. But there was also something very old about him, though he seemed young enough. His eyes told a different story.

The third was another woman, not the guard from before as he had expected. This woman wore a hood over red hair and chainmail over the rest of her.

The first woman was demanding something of him, but he couldn’t understand it. So they _didn’t_ speak Tamrielic*. This was going to be a problem.

As he didn’t answer, the woman seemed to get angrier, furrowing her brow and just shouting the same question she’d just asked.

Calmly, Volyn said, “I have no idea what you’re saying.”

The woman looked at the elf and the two exchanged words. The red-head shrugged and said something as well. Then the elf said something, gesturing to Volyn.

Volyn knew a spell that would sort this out. He’d learned it while studying in Apocrypha. But he didn’t want to display any of his powers yet, in case those sorts of things didn’t exist here. He wasn’t even sure his magic would work.

The elf had a staff with him, though. And he seemed to be preparing a spell. His eyes were closed in concentration and he aimed the staff at the dark elf. The tip grew bright, the small orb glowing a pale yellow, then shot at Volyn suddenly.

He forced himself to remain silent, though he was startled.

“What was that?” he asked on instinct. The magic that flowed through him now felt…very strange.

“There. Much better,” the elf said. _So he knows a translation spell as well. Good to know. Wonder where he learned that. Obviously not from Hermaeus Mora._

The black-haired woman asked, “Now, _who are you_? What are you? Solas says you are not a demon, but your eyes glow with an…unholy light. And your skin is not a normal color.”

“As far as I know, I’m still an elf,” Volyn answered. Playing dumb may give him more information about this world, after all.

“Really?” the elf asked. “What is the last thing you remember?”

“I don’t.”

The woman made a sound that can only be describe as disgusted. “And why should we believe you?”

“If you weren’t going to believe me, why did you ask?”

She made that noise again. “Is this going to be a common occurrence? The Fade spitting out elves that can’t remember how they got there?”

_The Fade? Is that something like Oblivion here?_

Look, I don’t know why I look the way I do. I know I am an elf. And I know my name is Volyn. If you want to know anything more than that, your guess is as good as mine,” Volyn told them.

“Mysteries upon mysteries, it seems,” said the elf. “Well, my name is Solas. This is Seeker Cassandra and Leliana.”

“Wonderful. Good to meet all of you. Now how long before you let me out of here?”

Leliana quirked an eyebrow at him. “Who said we were letting you out?”

Her accent was one the dark elf didn’t recognize.

Volyn shrugged. “I had hoped. I don’t know what else you would keep me for, unless I did something illegal that I can’t remember.”

“He’s right,” the elf, Solas, said, “He hasn’t done anything and he is no demon.”

“I am not convinced,” Cassandra said.

“So I’m in here on your whim?” Volyn asked.

“Until we understand more about the situation, it would be for the best to keep you here. We aren’t sure what others will think of you yet,” Leliana said.

 Volyn sighed. “Then I suppose I’d better get comfortable.”

 

\-----

 

The Dalish elf was headed back to Haven, having spent the last hour or so running around outside the town searching for elfroot. Now that his bag was bulging with the plants, he figured it was time to return. He also couldn’t feel the tips of his ears anymore.

“Someone’s been busy,” Adan said when Velthorn emptied the bag into chest of other medicinal herbs.

“I just felt I should pitch in,” he replied.

“Because you haven’t been doing enough around here,” Adan said wryly.

Over the last few days, as the Inquisition had begun to establish itself and become an actual organization, Velthorn had helped the smiths, set up the requisitions, scouted out good places to log, and gone hunting for elfroot, which was a common plant around Haven despite the cold. Because of him, or so it seemed to everyone, things had been set up smoothly and quickly, all things considered.

They called him the Herald of Andraste. Velthorn wasn’t sure what to make of that. He didn’t even really believe in his _own_ gods, let alone the humans’ Maker. But they believed in him, that much was certain. He knew that by the way they treated him. By the way they blew his help out of proportion. The way they talked, it seemed they believed he had single handedly raised the Inquisition up.

 _At least it gives them something to work for, even if the real binding agent should be the Breach and whoever caused it,_ the young elf reasoned.

Then there was that other matter. The supposed elf that had fallen from the Breach. He was still down in the cells below the Chantry, since no one knew what his presence meant. Apparently, he’d woken a few hours ago, but he hadn’t gone to see him yet.

Solas walked into the healer’s small house. “Ah, just who I was looking for,” he said at the sight of Velthorn.

“What do you need?” he asked.

The older elf’s eyes flickered briefly to Adan and his assistant before saying, “It’s about our unusual guest.”

“Oh. All right.”

“There you go, helping again,” Adan called out the door as they left.

Velthorn followed Solas to the apostate’s own lodgings. As with all the homes in Haven, it was small, but sturdily built and warmer than one might think. Solas lit a fire in the hearth with a wave of his hand and bade the Dalish elf to sit across from himself.

“Leliana, Cassandra, and I spoke with the one who fell from the Breach. He claims to not remember where he is from or anything else about his life.”

“Do you think he’s lying?”

Solas was quiet for a moment, but then said, “I believe he’s hiding something, but I’m not sure of what. I’ve never seen or heard of anyone or anything that looks as he does. You have not yet seen his eyes. I’ve never seen anything like them either.”

Velthorn considered this. In the few days he’d known Solas, he’d come to understand that the other elf was not easily surprised. He was well informed about…well, a lot of things. Even the Breach and the Rifts. So for this…creature? Person? Elf? For them to surprise and perplex Solas was unusual to say the least.

“What are we going to do with him?” Velthorn asked.

Solas shrugged. “At the moment, Cassandra only trusts him in irons, so who can say? And if we were to let him wander free, what would people think of him? He might even be attacked, mistaken, as Cassandra mistook him, for a demon. And if he is innocent and not the one that opened the Breach in the first place, then his blood would be on our hands.”

“You think it’s possible he’s the one who opened the Breach?”

“It is a possibility, though we searched him and found no trace of whatever object was used to cause the explosion.”

Velthorn blinked. “Would such a thing have survive the blast?”

“You did. And if something had that much power, I doubt it would be destroyed so easily. I will not believe it destroyed until I see its shattered pieces before me.”

The younger elf nodded in agreement. “Have you spoken of this to the others?”

“Leliana’s people have already searched the mountainside. There is no sign of whatever it may be.”

“If we could recover it, it would bring us that much closer to the person who cause all this. And closer to understanding the Breach and who knows what else,” Velthorn said.

The corners of Solas’ mouth curved up. “Indeed.”

“So, do we know _anything_ about this prisoner of ours?”

“He says his name is Volyn and that he is an elf, but he knows no more than that.”

“Hmm.” Velthorn sat forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees and folding his fingers together. “I’d like to talk to him. I’m not sure exactly what I’ll get from him, but I want to see what he’s like with my own eyes.”

“That’s reasonable. Should I accompany you?”

“If you’d like. We should probably avoid Cassandra though. I doubt she would approve of this.”

“Probably not,” Solas agreed with the slightest smile.

 Just two minutes later, the duo entered the room of cells. The guard, who was sitting with his back to the prisoner, looked up at their entrance. He stood and saluted.

“Herald.”

“Um, right. Uh, could you give us a few minutes with him?”

“‘course, sir,” the guard said and hurried from the room, closing the door behind him.

“Very trusting of him, to leave you all alone down here with me,” came a voice from the cell.

Velthorn stepped up to the front of the cell, replying, “We’re perfectly capable of defending ourselves.”

“I’m sure.”

From the darkness of the back of the cell glowed a pair of orange eyes, the yellow irises, pupil-free, were settled on him. The young Dalish was startled by the sight, but quickly regained composure.

“Come to ask more questions I can’t answer?” the prisoner asked.

“Can’t or won’t?” Velthorn returned.

“I can’t convince anyone of anything so long as I’m in here,” Volyn said.

“Well, you certainly speak like a demon. But I don’t want to jump to any conclusions. I’d like to believe you, but with what’s been going on these last few days, I’m not really sure what to believe anymore.”

For the first time, Volyn showed some emotion, eyebrows pulling together. “And exactly _what_ has been going on? I don’t know anything.”

Velthorn looked to Solas, wondering if he should actually tell the stranger about the Breach. Solas simply shrugged.

“Simply put, there’s a massive tear in the sky leading straight to the Fade. Smaller tears have formed in other places, spitting out demons. You came out of the big one.”

“Ah. So that’s why the angry one called me a demon.”

Solas put in, “Yes, and now you understand our suspicion.”

“Besides,” Velthorn said, “the people out there barely tolerate regular elves. What do you think they’d think of you?”

“All right, all right. Just try not to leave me down here to rot.”

The two elves left and the guard resumed his station, though still refused to look in the direction of his prisoner. Volyn settled himself back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest.

He wondered if he should simply become mist, use the guard as a snack, and get out of this place. But he was curious, too. A hole in the sky? Demons? The Fade? Obviously this was the place to be if you wanted information. He’d just have to suffer a little longer.


	3. Woes of the People

The party walked into camp, glad to see the Inquisition’s soldiers and banners. It had been a lot of hard walking from Haven to where the scouts had set up camp near the Crossroads. If Mother Giselle’s help was useful, however, it would be well worth it.

 

The entire region was in turmoil. On the trip there, they’d encountered their share of bandits and rouge mages.

 

Velthorn hoped that they could at least put the problems around the Crossroads at rest, if nothing else.

 

As the four came into the line of tents, several of the scouts stopped what they were doing to stare, including a young dwarven woman. Then she seemed to snap to her senses and went to greet them.

 

“The Herald of Andraste. I’ve heard the stories. Everyone’s heard them. We know what you did at the Breach and even though people are a bit nervous around mages right now, you’ll get no backtalk here. That’s a promise. Inquisition Scout Harding, at your service. I-er, all of us here will do whatever we can to help.”

 

“Pleased to meet you,” Velthorn said, though to be honest, he was a little embarrassed. He hated being addressed as ‘My Lord’ or ‘Herald’ or ‘Worship’.

 

“We should get down to business,” Harding went on, unsure of what to think of the newcomers, “Originally, we came here for horses, from Master Dennet, but we haven’t seen or heard from him. Though, the fighting between the rebel mages and the rogue Templars hasn’t allowed us to get far.”

 

“Not surprising,” Cassandra commented. “The fighting has made it hard for anyone to travel this area.”

 

“Well, I grew up here and everyone always said Horsemaster Dennet’s horses were the strongest and fastest this side of the Frostbacks. Unfortunately, we don’t know if he’s even alive. As for Mother Giselle, she’s been helping refugees down at the Crossroads. It isn’t far from here. Just follow the path.”

 

“Thank you for the information,” Velthorn said, processing what he’d just heard.

 

“And-ah, good luck out there,” she told them, a look of pure concern on her face.

 

_In other words, I hope you don’t get killed._

It was simple enough to follow the road to the Crossroads, but what they found was less simple. Velthorn walked one step out of the protective barrier of rocks and was nearly fried by a stray fireball. He saw a Templar grab a woman and run her through with his sword. She didn’t fight back, except to try to run, which meant she likely wasn’t even a mage.

 

Ahead of the small group, archers were firing on both Templars and mages alike.

 

“Inquisition forces,” Solas noted.

 

“We should help them,” Cassandra said, already drawing her weapon. Solas put a barrier around them.

 

“Who says farm life is boring?” Varric said, mostly to himself, as he brought Bianca around.

 

They rushed into the ongoing battle and their combined forces quickly cut down the offending mages and Templars. After, the townspeople slowly started trickling back out of the houses. People got to work cleaning debris and putting out fires. Solas treated the wounded, while Cassandra, Velthorn, and the soldiers moved the bodies.

 

The fear was palpable, but what was worse was the resigned look on all the villagers’ faces.

 

Mother Giselle was already helping with the wounded, ones who were already wounded before this most recent fight.

 

Velthorn approached the woman alone, and came upon her trying to comfort a severely burned man. He didn’t want the magic near him, while she was telling him the mages could help.

 

“Mother Giselle?” Velthorn asked.

 

The woman turned to him. “I am. And you must be the one they’re calling the Herald of Andraste.”

 

“I’m told you asked for me.”

 

Mother Giselle nodded her head slowly. “I did, yes. I know of the Chantry’s denouncement, and I am familiar with those behind it. I won’t lie to you. Some of them are grandstanding, trying to increase their chances at becoming the new Divine. Some are simply terrified. So many good people, senselessly taken from us.”

 

“What happened was horrible,” he agreed, “And I want to try to help, but they aren’t letting me.”

 

Once more, Mother Giselle nodded. “And that is why I called upon you. Go to them. Convince the remaining clerics you are no demon to be feared. They have heard only frightful tales of you. Give them something else to believe.”

 

“You want me to appeal to them? Personally?” the elf questioned. Couldn’t that just makes things worse?

 

“If I thought you were incapable, I wouldn’t suggest it.”

 

“Will they even listen? They have been turning my very nature against me.”

 

“Let me put it this way: you needn’t convince them all, you just need some of them to doubt. Their power is their unified voice. Take that from them and you will receive the time you need.”

 

Velthorn understood the logic Mother Giselle was using, but worried it wouldn’t help, but hinder. Here he was, a Dalish elf and a mage, claiming to be the Herald of Andraste for a religion he himself didn’t believe in. Why should any of the shems put any stock in what he would say?

 

“I honestly don’t know if you’ve been touched by fate or sent to help us…but I hope. Hope is what we need right now. The people will listen to your rallying call, as they will listen to no other. You could build the Inquisition into a force that will deliver us, or destroy us.

 

“I will go to Haven and provide Sister Leliana the names of those in the Chantry who would be amenable to a gathering. It is not much, but I will do whatever I can.”

 

“Thank you,” Velthorn said, but she was already walking away.

 

The elf rejoined his companions, relaying the Mother’s idea. Immediately Cassandra wasn’t sure about it and voiced her own opinion, but they all decided it would be best to make a final decision with the other leading members of the Inquisition.

 

“We should help the people here,” Solas said as they walked to find Corporal Vale. “From what I can see, they are not faring well.”

 

That was an understatement. Many were cold at night, when the temperature dropped and left frost on everything til midmorning. Many more were half-starved. All had lost at least one loved one. Hope was nowhere to be found amongst these people. The Mother was right.

 

“We’ll see if the Corporal has any ideas on what to do,” Velthorn replied.

 

“He should be just up this hill,” Cassandra put in.

 

The Inquisition had already set up a camp here. Scouts and soldiers were scattered about, sitting by the fire, running errands, and doing what training they could with the limited space. They asked someone to bring them to Vale.

 

The Corporal was giving a group of scouts orders when they came up to him. His attention immediately changed and he sent the scouts on their way.

 

“Seeker. Herald. We’ve been expecting you. I’m afraid we haven’t made much progress getting to the Horsemaster, as I’m sure you heard. Too many problems here we have to deal with to even think about finding him.”

 

“Problems besides the war?” Cassandra asked.

 

“Problems _because_ of the war,” Vale answered. “The people here are hungry, cold, and have lost a lot.”

 

“What can we do?” Velthorn immediately said.

 

The Corporal thought for a moment, looking around. “Got a recruit by name of Whittle that’s looking into finding supplies. You can find him over by the cave that way. And a refugee named Hanin might have a few ideas about food. He’s a local hunter. Knows the area.”

 

“Anything else we should know?” Velthorn asked.

 

“Not that I can think of. Just be careful out there. It’s madness.”

 

“That’s nice to know,” Varric said as they walked away, “Why are we wandering around the wilderness looking for the angry rebels again?”

 

Cassandra, serious as always, replied, “To stop them from causing any more trouble. No one else is going to help, obviously.”

 

“That’s right. So let’s find Whittle and the hunter. We’ll see what we can do for these people first,” Velthorn told the team.

 

“Guess we’d better get to it, then,” Varric said, sounding hesitant, but he knew as well as the rest of the team this needed to be done. If they didn’t, who would? He’d learned that from his time with Hawke.

 

It took them some time, but they found Whittle and Hanin. The recruit asked them to find caches of supplies the rebels might be hiding and Hanin wanted them to find a safe place for locals to hunt. Somewhere the Inquisition was stationed, preferably.

 

It was well into the afternoon when they left the village.

 

“What are we going to do first? We have quite a list,” Solas asked.

 

“The biggest problem is the fighting. It would be more practical to find wherever the mages and Templars are holed up first. Once the fighting has stopped, it’ll make it easier to hunt for food and to find the caches,” Velthorn said.

 

“As well as finding the Horsemaster,” Cassandra put in.

 

“That too. We should get over there. We’re losing daylight.”

 

After checking the maps, the group left toward Lake Luthias, the most direct route toward the King’s Road. The Inquisition scouts had reported that was where a lot of the fighting was going on, so there should be clues as to where the groups were coming from.

 

“Look at that,” Solas said, looking towards the crumbling towers of Calenhad’s Foothold. At one time, it would have been a grand structure, but now it was little more than a few dilapidated walls.

 

“Aaaand, we have company,” Varric sighed, seeing the Fade Rift and the demons it was spawning, “This is going to be a long few days.”

 

* * *

 

Day one only got them to the lake. After closing the Rift, the group continued on the path until they reached water. It was located on a cliff, which conveniently overlooked the battleground of the Templars and mages. The sun was on the decline by that time and the group set up camp.

 

The fighting was over by nightfall.

 

“Seems they’ve given up for the time being,” Solas noted, looking back at the others. He’d been watching the lights of the stray spells.

 

“Good,” Varric grumbled in reply, “Idiots.”

 

Velthorn put in, “I can’t believe they’re still going at each other. Can’t they see that what they’re doing is madness?”

 

“Some of them, perhaps. Others believe their cause is true,” Solas said.

 

“Do you think the Conclave could have done anything about all this?” Velthorn asked.

 

He and one of his clanmates, Tarill, had been there to see and report back on what was going on with the rebellion. Tensions had seemed high even before everything exploded.

 

Thinking about Tarill hurt. She’d been a good friend and now she’d been reduced to nothing more than dust on the mountainside.

 

Cassandra answered this time. “We had hope.”

 

 _Hope?_ Velthorn thought, _Hope isn’t going to solve what’s happening on that road down there._

 

The conversation continued as Solas said, “The templars went to war to force mages back into the Circles, which the mages would never agree to. What solution could Divine Justinia have offered when all sides rejected compromise?”

 

Varric added, “Yeah, what exactly was the Divine's plan? Bring everyone together and hope really hard that they would all get along?”

 

Stoically, as usual, Cassandra replied, “Most Holy did not confide her plan to me. Perhaps she thought they were tired of death and conflict.”

 

Varric laughed rather humorlessly. “When has that ever been true? For Templars _or_ mages?”

 

“The war was going nowhere for either side,” Cassandra explained, “That they went at all showed that they realized this. You should not speak ill of the dead, Varric. She did what she could, and that is more than most.”

 

“We’re doing something,” Velthorn told them. “And we’ll continue to do something, until things change. The chaos cannot continue. The killing cannot continue.”

 

There was such conviction in his voice, such true belief in what he was saying, that his companions didn’t doubt him. With that in their heads, the group fell silent.

 

* * *

 

A week later found the party at Dennet’s farm. Inquisition soldiers were already setting up a watchtower on the ridge. The mages and Templars had been dealt with, and they’d even managed to convince a few runaways from both sides to join their ranks. Most were scared and had only been caught up in all the fighting, thinking they had no other way out of the conflict.

 

Velthorn and Solas were currently investigating the strange tablet they’d found while exploring the countryside. In fact, they’d found it after also finding a skull on a pedestal that lit up the locations of other ‘shards’.

 

Of course, Varric immediately registered the thing, which they’d called Ocularum after finding more, as ‘creepy shit’. In all honesty, Velthorn had to agree. Especially after Solas admitted that he had never encountered such magic.

 

Unfortunately, the shard they’d found was just as mysterious as the Ocularum that lit them up.

 

“We’ll have to see if Leliana’s scouts can come up with any leads as to what these are and where those pedestals came from,” Solas said, leaning back after carefully studying the strange runes and markings.

 

“There have been a lot of strange things popping up of late,” Velthorn replied.

 

“Indeed. It’s possible the opening of the Breach and the damage to the Veil has allowed for a change in magic, perhaps opening up possibilities for new magical types. Who can say?” Solas speculated.

 

Velthorn only nodded, mulling it over. He needed no convincing. Over the past weeks, he had seen enough to know that things were quickly changing. The Inquisition had its work cut out for it, that was for sure.


	4. Val Royeaux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Herald and party head to Val Royeaux and meet some interesting people. Also, Volyn is now roaming around Haven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this chapter, I will probably never mention Vivienne again. In this story, she will be treated more as an asset to the Inquisition rather than a party member. I find her character to be completely unsavory and therefore will not write about her beyond minor interactions.

The party had made it back to Haven four days ago. Though they had acquired horses, that made them no less tired after three weeks of battle and travel. There had been a lot to do and many people to help.

 

For Velthorn, those three weeks had been well spent. The Hinterlands was more peaceful than it had been in months and much of it was being watched by Inquisition forces. The people were rallying to their flag and were no longer dying by the dozens. This was all good news.

 

Now, Velthorn found himself standing before a map, in a small room, with Cullen and Cassandra shouting at one another over how to approach the Templars for help. They’d come back around to this topic after deciding to send scouts to the Fallow Mire so they might get their captured soldiers back. The reprieve had been brief.

 

“Stop shouting!” he barked at them.

 

Both warriors turned to look at him, clearly shocked by his outburst.

 

“Look,” the elf said, “Shouting at each other will get us nowhere. We know that the Templars likely won’t even speak to us at the moment. They have no reason to trust us and they know that the Inquisition supports a mage as one of its leading members. We need to build more of a reputation first.”

 

“Speaking of which,” Leliana put in, “We got word this morning from those whose names we were given by Mother Giselle. They are willing to meet in Val Royeaux. Here is the letter detailing their offer.”

 

She placed the parchment down on the table, which Velthorn took a closer look at. They wanted to meet in just a few weeks. He and the rest of the team would need to head out almost immediately to make it in time. Probably just what they wanted.

 

“We would need to leave immediately to make this date,” Cassandra said, more than a little anger in her voice.

 

“They are trying to regain the control they feel they have lost,” Leliana said, “We can’t let them bully us into submission, but if we fail to meet them after they have publicly announced this meeting, it will show the Inquisition as incompetent.”

 

“Something we should avoid, I take it,” Velthorn murmured to himself. Then, aloud, he said, “We make preparations today and leave tomorrow. We don’t have much choice.”

 

“Clearly,” Cassandra stated.  

 

“I suppose that settles that,” Cullen said. “If that’s the last of things, I should get back to the recruits.”

 

“And I will draft our acceptance to the meeting,” Josephine put in. She gathered up the letter Leliana had produced earlier.

 

Cassandra, Cullen, and Josephine made their way out of the room, and Velthorn was about to follow him when Leliana caught his arm.

 

“There is one other thing,” she said.

 

Velthorn nodded. “Of course. What’s on your mind?”

 

The spymaster looked pensive; moreso than usual.

 

“Our prisoner has spent several weeks down there. He has neither complained nor caused us trouble. But he has also not taken either food or drink. While I don’t believe he is a demon, I know he is not normal either. I thought he would have tried something by now, but instead he simply waits.”

 

Leliana paused for a few seconds, carefully thinking over her next words. “I would like to see what he does if we release him. Let him walk Haven freely. We should warn people beforehand, of course, but this being is as mysterious as you were when you first stumbled from the Fade. You have been a great help, and I feel he could be as well, given the chance.”

 

Velthorn thought that over, weighing their options. They couldn’t keep the strange elf down there forever, obviously. But it was entirely possible he was dangerous.

 

“If we do release him and he kills someone, then what? People would lose faith in our ability to lead. Even if he doesn’t, his appearance isn’t normal. What if someone kills _him_?”

 

“I cannot give you answers. I only know what I told you. But we cannot keep him down there indefinitely. We don’t have that authority,” Leliana countered.

 

“That’s true.” Velthorn took a moment. “Let me talk to Cassandra. If I can convince her that letting him free is the right move, we’ll do it. And I want Solas there when we release him. Do a few final tests.”

 

Leliana nodded. “Do what you need.”

 

Cassandra was just heading in the direction of the sparring fields when Velthorn caught up to her. It took a lot of convincing and promises, but eventually, Cassandra agreed to let the prisoner loose. Under guard, of course, and he wasn’t allowed to leave Haven, but it was a start.

 

Another hour later found Velthorn, the leading council, Solas, and Varric all down in the dungeon beneath the Chantry. The prisoner looked even more ashen than Velthorn remembered, and gaunter too. Everything about this grey elf was completely perplexing.

 

With a nervous expression, the guard turned the key in the lock, which gave a loud click. He swung the door open, pulling it in front of him as though to shield himself from the prisoner.

 

Volyn stepped from the cell, glowing eyes scanning the room and each person in it with a critical gaze. Observation and foresight had kept him alive his entire life and this was likely the most dangerous situation he could be in. Stranded in another world. He refused to die here.

 

The guard removed his shackles and Volyn rolled his wrists, glad to be free of restraints. He was aching for blood, hungrier than he’d been in a long time, but he was no base creature. He would wait until he could indulge privately. He was still playing innocent, after all.

 

“So, finally letting me free? What spurred this?” he asked the assembled group.

 

Leliana spoke. “You’ve been a model prisoner and we have no cause to keep you longer.”

 

Cassandra cut in, “But make no mistake. You are not free to go. You will stay in Haven until we have some evidence as to who or what you are. You have not eaten since arriving and I find that to be evidence enough that you are some creature from the Fade, but my associates disagree. You will be under guard and should you step one _toe_ out of line, you will be killed.”

 

 _Pleasant as always_ , Volyn thought, but he kept that to himself.

 

“I’m going to do one final test,” Solas told him. “To assure our Seeker here that you are not a demon.”

 

“By all means,” the vampire replied.

 

Solas grounded his staff and the orb on top glowed. A white light struck Volyn full in the chest, which caused him to stumble just a little. An uncomfortable warmth filled him and made him feel sick, but he was otherwise unaffected.

 

“That’s a spell meant to shield from demons and their mental manipulations. If he were one, or had one in him, it would have come out to defend itself. He is no demon,” the elf stated.

 

“As I’ve been telling you,” Volyn said.

 

“Then why haven’t you been eating?” Cassandra asked.

 

Volyn shrugged. “I feel no compulsion to eat food.”

 

Leliana touched Cassandra’s arm. “Let him go. All will be revealed eventually.”

 

“Yes, please. It is so very cramped in here,” Volyn said to Cassandra.

 

The woman sneered but replied, “Go.”

 

The vampire didn’t need to be told twice. He was glad to be getting out of here.

 

“That wasn’t so bad,” Varric said, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t a good idea. Aside from the obvious, something about this Volyn didn’t seem right.

 

“Now we just have to pray he doesn’t kill anyone,” Josephine said.

 

“Or that someone doesn’t kill him,” Solas added.

 

* * *

 

It took nearly two weeks to make it to Val Royeaux. They made it just two days before their meeting. Leliana and Josephine had made arrangements for the four of them to stay with one “Madame de Fer”, who had, much to their surprise, reached out to _them_.

 

The First Enchanter was well known and the fact that she wanted to associate with the Inquisition was either very good, or very bad. Leliana could not say which for certain yet, but hoped that this stay could foster a positive relationship between them.

 

When they arrived at Lady Vivienne’s estate, Velthorn could hardly contain his wonder. Of course, all of Val Royeaux seemed a strange place to a young elf who’d lived on the road all his life. Still, the architecture and grandeur of the estate took his breath away.

 

On the flip side, Val Royeaux didn’t seem quite ready for him either. As soon as the party had entered the gates, they were already causing a commotion. Velthorn specifically. With a shining breastplate stamped with the mark of the Inquisition and the leaf green _vallaslin_ clear on his face, people had gasped, cried out, moved out of the way, and flat out bolted.

 

Secretly, this amused Velthorn highly, but knew it was counterintuitive.

 

Arriving at the salon, in the midst of a gather, the group uneasily entered. They weren’t dressed for the occasion and Velthorn was far from ready for socializing with humans at some high society party. Velthorn was far from ready for socializing with much of anyone, if he was being truthful.

 

But he put on a good face as he was announced and two party-goers approached him. They spoke of rumors they’d heard of the Inquisition and what had happened at the Breach.

 

Hoping he didn’t look as uncomfortable as he felt, Velthorn told them, “I think perhaps the rumors are a _little_ exaggerated.”

 

“Of course they’re not,” Varric put in, “I watched the Herald single-handedly fight off a horde of demons and rescue an entire village.”

 

“Oh, this gets better and better,” the woman said, “The Inquisition should attend these parties more often.”

 

Someone to the side of them snorted loudly. Velthorn’s attention turned to the man, who was descending a staircase.

 

“The Inquisition? What a load of pig shit.” The man was at the base of the stairs now. “Washed-up Sisters and crazed Seekers? No one can take them seriously.”

 

He purposely walked between the party-goers and the Inquisition party. Cassandra probably would have punched him had Velthorn not put an arm in front of her. Solas quietly watched the man with a patient eye.

 

“Everyone knows it’s just an excuse for a bunch of political outcasts to grab power,” the man said with a thick Orlesian accent.

 

“We’re trying to help,” Velthorn told him calmly, “I only want to put things right again in a world gone completely mad.”

 

“Oh? Yes of course you are. Restoring peace by building an army. We all know how it goes,” the man mocked. He took a step forward, now just two feet from Velthorn. “Your Inquisition is a sham and everyone knows it. If you were a man of honor, or a man at all, you would step outside and answer the charges.”

 

The man grabbed for his sword, but instantly froze. A blue haze had come over him and a thin layer of ice coated his entire being, save for his masked face.

 

A woman’s voice came from the stairs behind him. “My dear Marquis, how unkind of you to use such language in my house. To my guests.”

 

She descended the stairs, a perfect example of poise and power. Her horned headdress and gleaming silver mask gave her an impressive silhouette and the dress she wore showed off all the right parts in all the right ways.

 

As she came closer, she continued, “You know such rudeness is…intolerable.”

 

If he’d been able, the man probably would have been sweating as the woman walked behind him.

 

“Madame Vivienne! I humbly beg your pardon!”

 

“You should,” she agreed, coming round to stand in front of him, “Whatever am I going to do with you, my dear? My Lord, you’re the wounded party in this unfortunate affair. What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?”

 

This woman made Velthorn extremely uncomfortable, but he knew the game she was playing. Leliana and Josephine had given him a few pointers before sending him into the wilds of Val Royeaux.

 

“I…feel the Marquis has seen the error of his ways.”

 

Madame Vivienne gave the elf a graceful little smile before turning back to the Marquis.

 

“By the grace of Andraste, you have your life, my dear.” Dramatically, and unnecessarily, she snapped her fingers and the frost spell broke. “Do be more careful with it.”

 

The man was still coughing as he quickly walked out.

 

 “I was delighted to hear you would be coming and attending this little gathering. I’ve so wanted to meet you.”

 

“We were a little surprised to hear from you, given our current position,” Velthorn told her truthfully.

The mage made an amused sound. “I am a woman of vision. Let me tell you about what I see.” She made a gesture for him to follow. Velthorn looked to Cassandra, who only made a similar gesture that he should go with her.

 

Once in a rather dark and secluded hallway, Madame de Fer turned to him. She stopped by a window, which let in a gentle breeze and the light of the moon. It spotlighted her in the dark. Purposefully, Velthorn suspected.

 

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchantress to the Imperial Court.”

 

“Charmed, Lady Vivienne,” Velthorn replied, giving the slightest of bows, “I am Velthorn Lavellan, more commonly known as the Herald of Andraste.”

 

Vivienne smiled that same supple little smile of hers. “A pleasure.”

 

Then she turned away, giving what was surely a well-prepared speech, “Ah, but I didn’t invite you to the chateau for pleasantries. With Divine Justinia dead, the Chantry is in shambles. Only the Inquisition might restore sanity and order to our frightened people. As the leader of the last loyal mages of Thedas, I feel it only right that I lend my assistance to your cause.”

 

“What exactly do you mean by loyal mages? Loyal to whom?” Velthorn asked. His clan had more contact with humans than most, but that didn’t mean he knew a great deal.

 

“Why, to the people of Thedas, of course,” she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “We have not forgotten the commandment, as some have, that magic exists to serve man. I support any effort to restore such order.”

 

“And ideally, what would order look like?” Velthorn asked her.

 

She looked at him steadily, brown eyes meeting his own green ones. “Without the Circles, how shall mages safety learn to master their talents? With all the in-fighting, how shall the common people keep themselves safe? And with the Veil torn, just how will the world itself be affected? There is so much chaos and I won’t wait quietly for destruction.

 

“The Circles must be restored. The Chantry must select a new Divine. The Templars must be put back into their proper places. The Breach must be sealed. That is order restored.”

 

Velthorn didn’t agree with any of these statements, but he was here to foster a relationship with this woman. His personal feelings on the matter weren’t important.

 

“The Inquisition will be happy to have you and your support, Lady Vivienne.”

 

For the first time, Vivienne truly smiled. “Great things are beginning, my dear. I can promise you that.”

 

* * *

 

The courtyard was quite full and Velthorn was uncomfortable. He was used to the wide-open spaces of the countryside, not crowded human cities. However, this was his life now and he would need to adjust. As they entered, he held his head high and back straight, looking to make a good impression on the people of Val Royeaux.

 

The crowd parted for them and they could already hear the voice of one of the naysaying Mothers addressing the congregation. Her words stopped short as she saw them approach.

 

“And here is the false prophet,” she said solemnly, “Together, we mourn our Divine. Her naïve and beautiful heart…silenced by treachery. You wonder what will become of her murderer. Well, wonder no more! Behold! The so-called Herald of Andraste! Claiming to rise where our beloved fell. He is a deceiver and he is false. The Maker would send no elf in our hour of need!”

 

 _Rather uncalled for_ , was Velthorn’s immediate thought. He shook off the insult.

 

“I have never claimed to have been sent by anyone,” Velthorn returned, “I don’t know if I was handed out of the Fade by Andraste or not. I only want to help. I only want to speak so we can defend ourselves from an enemy that may very well still be out there!”

 

Cassandra put in, “It’s true! The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late!”

 

But the Mother only looked more upset by their answers. “It is already too late! The Templars have returned to the Chantry! They will face this “Inquisition”, and the people will be safe once more!”

 

On cue, a small group of Templars, led by a grey-haired man with a stony face, approached. They marched up the wooden steps of the platform the Mother had been giving her speech from. The aforementioned woman looked smugly at the four companions as the leader of the group passed her.

 

Then one of the other soldiers, as he passed the woman, paused briefly to _punch_ her.

 

Velthorn and one of the Templars took a quick step forward at the same time. The grey-haired man put a hand on the soldier’s shoulder.

 

“Still yourself. She is beneath us,” he said coldly.

 

“How dare you?!” Cassandra shouted, a sneer on her face.

 

“You…aren’t here to deal with the Inquisition?” Velthorn asked, confused by the situation.

 

“As if there were any reason to,” the man responded, looking down at them for the first time.

 

Cassandra followed him as the man came down the other side of the stand.

 

“Lord Seeker Lucius, it’s imperative that we speak with—”

 

He immediately cut her off. “You will not address me.”

 

In confusion, she asked, “Lord Seeker?”

 

“Creating a heretical movement? raising up a puppet as Andraste’s prophet? You should be ashamed.” He turned to the crowd. “You should all be ashamed! The Templars failed _no one_ when they left the Chantry to purge the mages! _You_ are the ones who have failed! You who would leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear! If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is _mine_.”

 

Highly offended by everything this man stood for, Velthorn addressed him. “If you’re not here to help the Chantry, then you just came to make speeches?”

 

“I came to see what frightens old women so, and to _laugh_.”

 

“But Lord Seeker…what if he really _was_ sent by the Maker? What if—?” asked one of the other Templars, a young man with very dark skin and hair so short, he hardly had any. He looked perturbed by this whole affair.

 

He was silenced by another, the same one in leather armor who’d punched the Mother. “You are called to a higher purpose! Do not question!”

 

The Lord Seeker went on, “ _I_ will make the Templar order a power that stands alone against the void. We deserve recognition. Independence!”

 

At this proclamation, the other Templars raised a fist to their breast, even the one who had been questioning.

 

“You have shown me nothing, and the Inquisition? Less than nothing.” He turned to the other Templars. “Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection! We march!”

 

With that, the soldiers departed. Cassandra watched on, completely speechless. The other companions weren’t quite sure what to think of it either.

 

As soon as they had gone, Varric said, “Charming fellow, isn’t he?”

 

“He’s gone mad!” Cassandra said, mouth set in a deep frown.

 

“What do you know of him? Do you know him very well?” Velthorn asked.

 

“He took over the Seekers of Truth two years ago, after Lord Seeker Lambert’s death. He was always a decent man, never given to ambition and grandstanding. This is very bizarre.”

 

That description sounded exactly _not_ like the man they’d just encountered.

 

“Do you think he could be reasoned with?” Velthorn asked.

 

She answered, “I hope so. If not him, there are surely others in the Order who don’t feel as he does. Either way, we should return to Haven.”

 

They retrieved Solas from across the court, where he was browsing a vendor’s books. They made to leave, but as they did so, an arrow came from somewhere above and buried into the ground at Velthorn’s feet.

 

“What was that?” Cassandra asked, hand automatically going for her sword.

 

“An arrow,” Velthorn said, “With a note.”

 

He pulled the arrow loose and unwrapped the note. He sighed. “It seems we have a few more things to do before we leave.”

 

* * *

 

After having finally found the final note from these ‘Friends of Red Jenny’ people, they made to leave the courtyard. They didn’t make it too far before a voice stopped them in their tracks.

           

“If I might have a moment of your time?” came the feminine voice.

 

An elven woman was standing in the shadow of a building, a traveling cloak partially covering her face. Velthorn noted that there was something very sad about her. However, Cassandra’s eyes narrowed, eyebrows knitting.

 

“Grand Enchanter Fiona?” she asked.

 

“Leader of the mage rebellion,” Solas said, “Is it not dangerous for you to be here?”

 

“I heard of this gathering,” she answered, “And I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste with my own eyes.”

 

“And what do you think of all you’ve seen here?” Velthorn asked her.

 

The Grand Enchanter looked at the ground for a moment before looking back into his eyes. “I have seen that your heart is in the right place, and I hope the proper actions follow that lead. If it’s help with the Breach you seek, perhaps your fellow mages can lend aid.”

 

“You were supposed to be at the Conclave,” Cassandra said, accusatory, “You were the leader of the mages and you should have been there, but you weren’t. Conveniently avoiding your death.”

 

“As did the Lord Seeker, you’ll note,” Fiona pointed out. “Both he and I sent negotiators in our stead, in case it was a trap.” She paused for a moment. “I won’t pretend I’m not glad to be alive. But I lost many dear friends that day. It disgusts me to think the Templars will get away with it. I’m hoping you won’t let them.”

 

Her eyes turned to Velthorn at that last sentence.

 

“You think the Templars are responsible?” he asked.

 

“Who else could it be? I know I did not send my people, my friends, to the Conclave to die,” the mage responded, “And if it wasn’t the Templars, then it has to be someone else. And that thought is almost…” She couldn’t find the words to finish.

 

“Why now?” Velthorn tried to steer the conversation away from that. There was too much pain in talking about the Conclave. Even he had lost a good friend there. She had been sent to protect him, and look where that got her. “The mages weren’t willing to talk to the Inquisition before. Why now?”

 

“Because now I’ve seen what you are. And I’ve seen the Chantry for what it is. Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe: come meet with the mages. An alliance could help us both, after all.”

 

“We’ll think on the offer. Thank you, Grand Enchanter,” Velthorn said.

 

She gave him a nod. “I hope to see you there. Au revoir, my Lord Herald.”

 

* * *

 

 

“This is the place,” Velthorn said, looking down at the map in his hand to make sure of himself. It was dark out, but his eyes were well adapted to such darkness.

 

“I wonder who this guy is. The message only said he was a ‘baddie’,” Varric said.

 

The four looked around. It seemed like any other part of the city, with the ornately carved stone and marble. The windows of the homes around them were lit, though most were at least partially covered with drapery. Some men were standing around, talking just up the stairs. One of them glanced their way.

 

That man did a double-take. “Is that—that’s the Herald! The Inquisition’s Herald!”

 

“Here?” another of them shouted.

 

A little startled, both groups drew their weapons.

 

The first of the men made the mistake of charging them, coming directly into Cassandra’s path. She parried his weak swing and used her stronger footing to her advantage. As he stumbled slightly, sword reeling back, Cassandra struck. He fell to the ground at her feet, bleeding profusely from the fresh stab.

 

The second didn’t even have a chance to come at them. Varric had poked him full of arrows before he even realized. He, too, fell to the ground with a heavy thud.

 

“I suppose that means we’re in the right place,” Velthorn said.

 

“Indeed,” replied Cassandra, wiping her blade off.

 

Solas pointed ahead of them. “The only way forward is through those doors. We should be prepared for a trap that might lie ahead.”

 

The rest of the group nodded in agreement.

 

The doors were large and red. Velthorn didn’t understand why the doors had to be so large here. Surely they didn’t need to be ten feet tall. They weren’t even anything special. Just wooden doors with cracking blue paint.

 

It was a very good thing he pushed them open slowly. As soon as he did, a fireball nearly caught him in the face. He barely dodged a second one.

 

The man standing in the center of the small court was dressed as any of Orlesian nobility. A glittering gold mask covered half his face.

 

“Herald of Andraste! How much did you expend to discover me? It must have weakened the Inquisition immeasurably!”

 

“I don’t actually know who you are,” Velthorn responded.

 

The man sniffed. “You don’t fool me. I’m too important for this to be an accident. My efforts will survive in victories against you elsewhere.”

 

His back was turned, but the group of four saw the woman approaching from the shadows. She had a bow ready in her hands, arrow aimed right for him.

 

Announcing herself, the stranger said, “Just say ‘what’.”

 

He whirled around, exclaiming, “What is th—”

 

He never finished that statement. An arrow lodged itself in his face, going right through his mouth and coming out the back of his skull. Because of the angle she was at, aiming down at him, the arrow severed his spine. He was dead before he hit the ground.

 

The woman approached, a look of disgust clear on her face. “Ehh, squishy one, but you heard me right? Just say ‘what’. Rich tits always try for more than they deserve. Blah, blah, blah. Arrow in my face. So, you followed the notes well enough. Glad to see you’re…aaand you’re an elf. Well, hope you’re not too elfy. I mean, it’s all good innit? The important thing is you glow. You’re the Herald thingy.”

 

For a moment, Velthorn wasn’t sure what to say. There was so much coming out of her mouth, and most of it not making much sense, that he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to answer. Then he realized she’d asked a question.

 

“Some say that, yes. But who are you? What is all this?”

 

She shrugged lazily. “No idea. I don’t know this idiot from manners. My people just said the Inquisition should look at him.”

 

“Your…people?” Velthorn questioned.

 

“Well, you know. People people. Name’s Sera. This is cover. Get ‘round it. For the reinforcements. Don’t worry. Someone tipped me their equipment shed. They’ve got no breeches.” She started to giggle.

 

She was, unfortunately, right. The men, dressed in armor save for their bare legs and underclothes, came scrambling out of the nearby building. All were red-faced and clearly unamused by this little stunt.

 

“Why didn’t you take their weapons?” Cassandra called, sounding frustrated.

 

Sera just laughed like a lunatic. “Because! No breeches!”

 

Velthorn didn’t understand why the men would even try to fight without being properly prepared. But he shook his head and went into battle.

 

It was over quickly. In the end, one was full of arrows, curtesy of Sera and Varric, another was run through by Cassandra’s sword, and the last two were frozen solid to the ground, thanks to the two mages.

 

When they relaxed, Sera bound over, still giggling like mad. “Friends really came through with that tip! No breeches!” She took a moment to catch her breath. “So, Herald of Andraste. You’re a strange one. I’d like to join.”

 

“Join? You want to join the Inquisition?” Cassandra’s voice was full of disbelief.

 

Velthorn quieted her. “How about we get to know each other first? You know, names and such?”

 

“One name.” Her eyebrows pulled together. “No, two. It’s…well, it’s like this. I sent you a note to look for hidden stuff by my friends. The Friends of Red Jenny. That me. Well, I’m one. So is a fence in Montfort and a woman in Kirkwall. There were three in Starkhaven. Brothers or something.”

 

She looked back up at them. “It’s just a name, yeah? It lets little people, friends, be part of something while they stick it to nobles they hate. So here, in your face, I’m Sera. The Friends of Red Jenny are sort of out there. I used them to help you. Plus arrows.”

 

Velthorn thought this over and glanced at Cassandra, then back at the strange elf.

 

Cassandra asked, “And your ‘friends’? If you are offering spies, the Inquisition has its own.”

 

“Here’s how it is,” she replied, making large motions with her hands as she spoke, “You important people are up here, shoving your cods around, blah, blah, I’ll crush you, _I’ll crush you_ …” she rambled a little here, making kissing noises or something. Velthorn couldn’t stop starring at…whatever he was seeing…no matter how much he wanted to.

 

She cleared her throat. “Then, you’ve got cloaks and spy-kings. Like this tit. Or was he one of the little knives, all serious with his…little knife? All those secrets and what gave him up? Some houseboy who don’t know shite, but knows a bad person when he sees one.

 

“So no, I’m not all knifey-shivdark, all hidden. But if you don’t listen down here too, you risk your breeches. Like those guards. I stole their…” she almost giggled again, but contained herself “Look, do you need people ore not? I want to get everything back to normal. Like you.”

 

Once more, Cassandra and Velthorn exchanged a glance, then he said, “All right, Sera. Welcome to the Inquisition.”

 

Sera’s face brightened. “Yes! Get in good before you’re too big to like. That’ll keep your breeches where they should be. Plus extra breeches because I have all these…you have merchants who that buy that pish, yeah? Got to be worth something…

 

“Anyway, Haven right? I’ll see ya there, Herald. This will be grand!”

 

Then she was off, quick as a fox, running into the darkened streets. She was gone.

 

“Well, she was—ah, interesting,” Varric said, with a rare stunned expression.

 

“We need all the allies we can get right now. Even if they are half-mad,” Velthorn said, shrugging.

 

The others didn’t disagree. 


	5. A Vampire in Haven

Volyn had never been so relieved to have his freedom. Harkon’s powerful blood ran through his veins, dimming the hunger, but after so long, any in the Court would have been desperate. Then again, none in the Court would have had the patience or tact to not simply slaughter everyone.

 

Even Serana, who was usually so amiable, would have been at his throat had he been mortal. Instead, they had wrecked a bandit camp after leaving the caves. The dunmer couldn’t imagine how awful the hunger must have been for her, even if she was a Daughter of Coldharbour.

 

So now it was the hunger that drove him to find a victim. He knew he was being followed. Watched. The spies of that red-haired woman were keeping an eye on him, it seemed. But he was a professional assassin, and he would find privacy easily enough.

 

The air here was bitter cold, just as it was in Skyrim. However, the air smelled different and the people were not the same. They were softer. They met strangers not with callous words and threats of violence, but simple wariness. He’d discerned that by observing them for a mere hour.

 

Volyn watched as they gathered around a fire, listening to a woman reciting verses from the ‘Chant of Light’.

 

“Blessed are they who stand before

The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.

Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.”

 

Since coming out of the Chantry, Volyn had kept to himself. People had been warned of him and he had been provided hooded clothes, since his were rather tattered. Even still, when someone happened to see his face or his eyes, he was met with various unkind responses.

 

That wasn’t the only thing that worried him. The Inquisition had his gear, and he would need to find it all before long. His magical items were unfamiliar to these people and he didn’t want them in strangers’ hands. Especially Hermaeus Mora’s black book.

 

But that was later. First, he needed to feed. The hunger would only wait so long.

 

His first order of business was to lose the spies. He pulled the hood low over his face, hiding his eyes as best as he could without blinding himself. It was dusk now too, which would help obscure his, apparently, unusual skin tone.

 

He walked the length of Haven to get the general lay of the land. He found the tavern, the alchemist, the blacksmith. The important places. Volyn wondered just what it was this town did, considering the largest buildings in town were the bar and the place of worship.

 

The tavern was crowded this time of night. People were eating, drinking, laughing, conversing; general tavern activities. Volyn was glad at least something around here was familiar. Although, he could do without the noise, and the smell of alcohol actually made his empty stomach churn painfully.

 

Gently, he maneuvered his way to the other door. It came out to the second main path through town, but it was clear of people now. With a couple more glances, Volyn made his way to a circle of buildings and slipped behind one of them, sandwiching himself between the building and the town wall.

 

Wasting no time, Volyn drew on his innate magicka. It was as natural for him as drawing breath; hardly needed much thought at all. It formed like a spectral purple mist in his hand, which he allowed to flow over him. He was invisible in a moment.

 

Good, his magic still worked here. Now all he had to do was find someone secluded.

 

* * *

 

The man was alone, standing by the half-built trebuchet. He was armed with a sword, but seemingly nothing else. Shivering, the man stood up, intent on walking around to warm his limbs.

 

Even from this distance, the vampire could smell that he was healthy. No one else was around. Here, alone and isolated, this sentry was a perfect target. 

 

Volyn gathered a spell in his hand, aimed, and fired.

 

The unsuspecting sentry stumbled as the spell hit him in the back, just between the shoulder blades. For a moment, Volyn could see the dull green glow around the man, then it faded.

 

The spell affected the sentry powerfully. He removed his helmet, which appeared to be made of leather, like his uniform. He blinked several times and adopted a confused expression.

 

Someone under the effects of the Vampire’s Seduction spell become susceptible to suggestions. So Volyn confidently strode out to the sentry, knowing he would be forgotten.

 

The sentry turned to him, but his expression never changed, as though he weren’t quite comprehending what he was seeing. Volyn took this as a good sign.

 

“You don’t need to worry about a thing,” the vampire said softly, “Just relax.”

 

At this gentle coaxing, the sentry’s tight expression loosened. The vampire pressed on the sentry’s shoulders with both hands.

 

Volyn said, “This will only hurt a moment. No need to worry.”

 

The sentry nodded. He believed every word. No need to worry. He knelt, his face dropping to chest level with the stranger, knees on the ground and arms dangling.

 

The hunger was gnawing away at Volyn’s patience, but he’d never been a ravenous feeder. Torn flesh and screaming victims were for lesser creatures. Still, his gaze lingered on the offered throat, unable to be drawn away. The vampire leaned in.

 

The sentry gasped and recoiled at the slight pinching sensation of the vampire’s fangs, but Volyn’s arms were already securely around him. One was looped behind his neck, while the other held the back of his head. The sentry wasn’t going anywhere.

 

Then the pain was gone. The sentry stared, dazed, at the trees, mind empty of thought. He closed his eyes at some point and a warm, calm feeling washed over him. A memory came to the surface. He was a boy again and his mother’s arms were around him. He felt safe and content.

 

For Volyn, this feeling was the same, though there was no childhood memory involved. Instead, his pleasure and security came from his lips on the skin and the hot blood running over his tongue. The hunger was waning, no longer occupying his every thought, no longer twisting his stomach into knots.

 

No, now there was only the warm, satisfying embrace.

 

The next thing the sentry knew, he was cold and leaned against one of the many large beams for the trebuchet. He was confused and annoyed at first. He wanted to go back to sleep, but this damnable cold was preventing that. Then he snapped to his senses and sat up straight.

 

Had he fallen asleep on sentry duty?

 

Mortified by his negligence, he scrambled to his feet and continued on his route.

 

But he couldn’t shake the feeling of longing he had, even if he didn’t know what exactly he was longing for.

 

_Must have been some dream._

 

* * *

 

 _So that is the Breach_ , Volyn thought.

 

He was sitting atop the smith’s house just outside Haven’s wall. No one had noticed when he jumped up, his footfalls as light as falling snow. He wanted to get a closer look at what everyone had been talking about now that he wasn’t distracted.

 

The tear in the sky was green and crackling with what he assumed was magical discharge. Large chunks of rock hung in the air, bobbing as though they were in water. He’d never seen anything quite like it and the power he felt resonating from it reminded him of the Eye of Magnus.

 

He was never a member of the College, but one of his associates had contacted him about it not long after the final fight with Alduin. He made the trip from the Dawnstar Sanctuary to Winterhold in the hopes of seeing this newfound oddity for himself.

 

On that trip, he’d even met a member of the Psijic Order, a high elf named Quaranir. Though the mer had been reluctant to tell him much, they’d briefly discussed various magical applications, designs, and flows. Unfortunately, he revealed nothing about the Eye itself.

 

Volyn’s associate, however, was more forthcoming after everything was done. He still hadn’t managed to transcribe any of the runes on the orb, which the Order took for safekeeping, but he kept the pages he’d received just in case.

 

The Eye had been just as strangely beautiful as the Breach and just as powerful. Even his spectral companion, Lucien LaChance, had sensed the Eye’s power. He wondered if he would even be able to summon the ghost here in this other world.

 

In fact, he wondered if any of his other powers would work. He could still feel the dragon souls inside him. He still dreamed of their memories. But would the magic of his shouts still work? Would he be able to transform?

 

 _This isn’t the place_ , he reasoned.

 

He would test his powers, eventually, but not near Haven. This ‘Inquisition’ was already very suspicious of him and he wanted to stick around here as long as possible. These people were informed, especially their spymaster, Leliana.

 

He was still on a mission, after all, and he _never_ failed.


	6. Death Becomes Us All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to head to the Fallow Mire. Volyn tags along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used this to help translate a few words to the dragon language. Let me know if anything seems amiss with it. I am no language expert. https://www.thuum.org
> 
> Oh, and I'm moving. Across the country. The drive will take 3 days. The next chapter may or may not be up next Friday. It depends on what time allows.

“Then am I in some sort of trouble?” the dunmer asked.

 

“Trouble? Is this a game to you?” Cassandra shouted. She had no patience when this particular _creature_ was involved.

 

“You avoid my people readily,” Leliana put in, “It speaks of advanced training in stealth.”

 

Josephine spoke up as well. “And your presence…unnerves the townspeople. They say you skulk in the shadows.”

 

In response, Volyn told them, “I can’t help it. It isn’t as though I mean to do harm.”

 

“You also took back your confiscated goods without permission,” Leliana said, crossing her arms over her chest as she shifted her weight to the other foot.

 

“They’re mine. You didn’t have any right to keep them,” Volyn countered.

 

“They contain a magic we have never seen. They must be properly studied and stored away from the public,” Cassandra said.

 

“Look, I haven’t done anything. You said it yourself. I just want to be free to go where I please.”

 

“You don’t have that option,” Cassandra said.

 

Volyn held back a snarl. “Why are you so obstinate? I have done what you asked. You kept me in a dungeon for _weeks_. What more do you want from me?”

 

“I want answers!”

 

There was something else in her expression now, not anger, but pain. It puzzled the vampire, as she had never shown this before. She held her anger out for all to see, while keeping other emotions close to her.

 

For the first time, Velthorn spoke, “The Conclave was completely destroyed. You are the most viable lead we have. You came out of the Fade carrying strange magic that could very well have been what caused the explosion.”

 

“And by the Maker, if you had any part in the Divine’s death, I will put you down myself,” Cassandra threatened.

 

“Perhaps its best if you kept him close,” Leliana suggested.

 

Velthorn’s eyebrows drew together. “Are you suggesting we take him with us?”

 

The red-head nodded. “I am. Then he can prove himself to Cassandra, and all others who take him for a demon.”

 

The assembled group exchanged looks and that said just about everything that needed to be said. They were all weighting the pros and cons.

 

“Fine,” Cassandra finally said.

 

“I’m all right with it,” Velthorn said.

 

Cullen immediately protested. “This is clearly a terrible idea! We don’t even know what he is, let alone what he’s capable of. If he can lose Leliana’s people here in Haven, how easily do you think he’ll get away from us _out there_?”

 

“I don’t want to ‘get away’,” Volyn interjected, “But being watched every minute of the day and night is irritating.”

 

“Well, I’m sorry if our security is _annoying you_ ,” Cullen said in a low voice.

 

“Let this be his first test,” Leliana said, “He will go with the Herald to the Fallow Mire and if he is found to be agreeable, he can have the freedom and privacy he would like.”

 

The blond made a noise of disgust. “Fine.”

 

“Good,” Leliana said.

 

With a crooked smile, artfully done without revealing his rather sharp canines, the Dunmer asked, “So, when do we leave?”

 

* * *

 

 The Fallow Mire was, as expected, dark, cool, and damp. The party of five couldn’t trust their footing and had found that just about everything so far felt…squishy. They’d tried to ride horses, newly acquired from Dennet, but the poor beasts couldn’t manage the wet terrain any better than they could.

 

“We go to the worst places,” Varric complained, pulling his leg from where it’d sunk in the mud.

 

“For once, I actually agree with you,” Cassandra added.

 

Velthorn put in, “We should mark the occasion,” to which Varric chuckled. Even Cassandra managed to crack a smile.

 

They came upon the Inquisition scout camp after finally seeing their torches in the gloom. It was raining, _again_ , and nobody could tell if it was night or day. They were thankful just to see light and friendly faces.

 

Scout Harding met them at the edge of camp, greeting them with, “Thank you for coming. We’ve got quite a mess on our hands.”

 

Her eyes flickered to the one in the back, a figure she’d never seen before. He was only a hooded silhouette, with shining, flame-colored eyes.

 

“Err, he’s with us. He doesn’t mean any harm,” Velthorn assured her.

 

She didn’t look convinced. Those eyes made her guts squirm in the same way they might if she were face to face with a wolf.

 

Volyn stepped closer to the light, illuminating more of him. “He speaks the truth. I’m only here to help.” He gave her a smile that might have been charming had he been literally anyone else.

 

“Right,” she said, “Anyway, you should all come sit by the fire and eat. We have a lot to discuss and this weather isn’t doing us any favors.”

 

“Best idea anyone’s had all day,” Varric said.

 

They went over the details of the situation, that some of the Inquisition’s people had been captured by Avvar, then were shown to their tents.

 

The morning was hardly different from the night. The rain had turned into a light drizzle, but the clouds obscured nearly all sunlight. Only a pale circle could be seen in the sky.

 

 _This is even worse than Morthal_ , Volyn thought to himself, _and everything smells like rot._

 

“Are we ready to go?” Velthorn asked the group.

 

Everyone made one final check and as they made their way toward the main swamp, they were given one last piece of advice.

 

“Don’t disturb the water.”

 

It was good advice. According to the scouts, when anything touched the water, undead rose in droves. The scouts had learned that the hard way, one of them losing her life to the creatures. Thankfully, there was an old road through the swamp. It was disused and in shambles now, but was still a good way to keep track of where you were and where you needed to go.

 

“Is there anything else we should be watching out for here? I don’t know this place,” Volyn asked.

 

“Bogfishers, probably,” Solas answered.

 

“Bogfishers?”

 

“Rather large, ugly creatures, but they won’t cause trouble unless provoked,” the elf explained.

 

“But if there are undead, that means the Veil is thin. We might encounter spirits or demons as well,” Velthorn warned.

 

“He’s right,” Solas agreed.

 

“Then be on your guard,” Cassandra told them.

 

They continued down the path, sticking to the most solid places they could find. The air was heavy around them, thick with the rancid odor of stagnant, infected water. Mist swept across the ground and in the air all around them.

 

Volyn couldn’t detect anything around him, not by his nose, at least. However, his alert and sensitive eyes could see mostly everything in the gloom.

 

“There are buildings ahead of us,” he said.

 

“How can you see anything through this fog?” Cassandra asked.

 

“Same way I see in the dark, I’d imagine,” the dark elf replied, shrugging, “That doesn’t change the fact that there are buildings. Do people actually _live_ in this place?”

 

“ _Used_ to live here,” Cassandra corrected, “Fisher’s End, I believe.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“A plague,” she said curtly.

 

“Ah. That explains the smell. This place reeks of death.”

 

“What else can you smell?” Solas asked, sounding genuinely curious.

 

Volyn thought for a moment. “Water. Rot. Disease. Everything is musty and actually rather unpleasant.”

 

“I take it you have very acute senses,” Solas said.

 

“I do.”

 

They had reached the structures Volyn had pointed out. The wood was rotting away, unmaintained and unprotected from the moisture. Moss and mushrooms clung in chunks to what remained of rooves. Just a few feet away, a pile of rotting bodies lay in a hole, some no more than skeletons with bits of blackened flesh clinging to the bones.

 

Each member of the party reflexively wrinkled their noses at the smell.

 

“Ugh…that is foul,” Cassandra said.

 

No one else dared open their mouths, lest they taste the awful smell even more clearly. Velthorn thought it was incredibly tragic, however, and wished they could put these people to rest.

 

As they walked past more ruined houses, Varric said, sounding somber, “These people didn’t stand a chance.”

 

“They didn’t even have time to bury them,” Volyn noted, pointing out the other pits.

 

“We should burn the corpses to prevent them from being possessed,” Cassandra said.

 

“It’s a little late for that,” the vampire said, pointing to a few approaching figures.

 

The walking corpses shambled toward them. A few of them had weapons, which dragged the ground and left grooves in the mud behind them. Each of them were in various states of decomposition. Some didn’t have any clothes at all or were missing limbs.

 

Volyn nocked an arrow and drew back the bowstring before anyone else had the time to react. He released the arrow and it hit its target full in the face, sinking into an empty eye socket. It took him another heartbeat to nock another arrow.

 

The rest of the group helped to make quick work of the shamblers. The mages decided to kill two birds with one stone and set the pits of bodies ablaze.

 

“That’s the best we can do. Let’s move on,” Velthorn said.

 

Farther into the bog, they encountered more walking corpses, but they were easily dealt with. Between Volyn’s keen senses and Solas’s ability to sense spirits, it wasn’t hard to pick them off before being sensed themselves.

 

It was when they came upon some sort of pillar that they became confused. After lighting the sconce up with veilfire, and subsequently being attacked, the group came to the conclusion that they were beacons of some sort. They lured the undead and a few demons with the beacons and destroyed them.

 

Somewhere along the way, perhaps halfway between the scouts’ camp and the ruins the Avvar had holed up in, they encountered a Rift.

 

A very large man was watching it, studying it. By his clothing, the group instantly identified him as Avvar, but when he saw them approaching, he didn’t go after them as the other Avvar had done.

 

“Greetings,” he said to them.

 

“Hello,” Velthorn cautiously greeted. His marked hand sparked, coming to life at the presence of the Rift. In response, the Rift groaned like wood under a heavy weight.

 

This didn’t escape the Avvar’s notice. “So you’re Herald of Andraste?”

 

“I am, yes. Who are you?” the elf returned.

 

“Amund. Sky Watcher for the Lady of the Skies,” the Avvar replied. “My kin want you dead, but it’s not my job. No fears from me.”

 

“That’s comforting, I suppose,” Velthorn said, mostly to himself.

 

Amund went on. “I’m trying to figure out this hole in the world. Never seen anything like its like. They spit out angry spirits. What the sky’s trying to tell us, I don’t know. Your people call them ‘rifts’, don’t you?”

 

“We do,” Velthorn said. “Do you know anything about the Inquisition’s people? The ones who want to kill me have taken them as hostages.”

 

“A few were injured, but all were alive, last I saw of them,” the man replied.

 

“How long ago was that?” Varric asked.

 

For the first time, Amund looked over the rest of the party. Volyn quickly looked away, lest the big man catch his eye.

 

“Two days ago,” the Avvar answered.

 

“We should close this Rift and continue,” Cassandra said.

 

“Right,” Velthorn agreed.

 

The mark was glowing and sparking continuously this close to the dormant Rift. Velthorn raised his hand to the Rift and, by sheer force of thought and will, bade it to open. The thing exploded to life.

 

Amund raised his war hammer as soon as the demons began to spawn. Two terrors crawled from the Rift, all gangly limbs and twisted features. At the same time, several spirits raced past them, but immediately turned and began to attack.

 

Varric began firing arrows at the farthest wisp, which fired right back with bolts of green energy. Solas raised a shield just in time to stop the incoming attacks. Two of the wisps dissipated into mist after suffering a chain lightning spell by Velthorn.

 

Meanwhile, Cassandra and the Sky Watcher took on the terrors. Velthorn cast a shield around them as they fought, knowing terrors had a nasty habit of opening portals right behind an opponent.

 

Volyn drew his sword, a steel blade loaned to him by the Inquisition, as several wisps flew from the Rift and into the murky waters surrounding them. In moments, the bodies which had previously been floating there stood and began to shuffle toward them.

 

But the vampire was fast. As soon as the corpses’ feet touched solid ground, Volyn chopped the legs from under one of the creatures and severed its head in two quick motions. The second was just as easily dispatched as the first and the dark elf went right on, going after the three others that were coming ashore.

 

When it as over and the Rift was closed, Amund stood observing the scene.

 

“Lady of the Skies!” he said, “You can mend the gaps in the air?”

 

“Yes,” Velthorn replied, “It seems I have been given that particular honor.”

 

“Maybe you do have a god’s favor,” the Avvar said.

 

“Perhaps he does,” Solas agreed, “But for now, we should focus on the scouts.”

 

Velthorn nodded to his companion, then looked back to Amund. “We appreciate the help.”

 

The Avvar gave a little nod of his head. “Anytime.”

 

After this encounter, they found two more beacons and had the keep in sight, but the light rain had turned to an outright downpour. Lightning cracked all around them, splitting the sky in veiny flashes. It was hard to see anything beyond a few feet and all agreed it was time to stop.

 

“Those towers might provide shelter!” Solas shouted over the raging rain.

 

They followed his lead, running for the broken towers of the dilapidated castle. One of the towers still had a piece of the first floor attached and they took cover underneath. The rain pounded hard on the side of the stones.

 

“When we’re done here, I suggest we _never_ come back,” Varric lamented, wiping a rivulet of water from his forehead and eyes.

 

“Agreed,” Velthorn said, feeling miserably soggy.

 

Not that there hadn’t been hard days with the Clan. Bitter winters and rainy summers. There was one spring where the weather had been so wet, the aravels had been too stuck in mud to be moved. The halla hadn’t been happy. None of them had been.

 

Velthorn lit a fire and the groups’ wet clothes were set by it to dry. What couldn’t be stripped off clung to their bodies and caused all of them to huddle near the flames.

 

“The old keep is just ahead,” Cassandra said, “Once this rain lets up, we should continue. There is no telling what the Avvar have done with the scouts.”

 

Sleep came uneasy to Volyn. He was restless, despite having spent the last several hours trekking through a bog and killing undead. When he did finally sleep, the souls of all the dragons he’d slain bombarded him with memories and feelings. Words, new and old, human and dovah, floated in his head.

 

…nii fen kos…

 

….no! you cannot succeed!...

 

….joor…

 

...Lein oblaan…

 

The sensation of wind over his wings was simultaneously familiar and foreign. Though the air at this height had to be thin and icy, this didn’t bother him. A thick coating of brilliant red scales saw to that. Powerful yellow eyes searched the ground below, seeking the mortal who dared move against his Lord, Alduin.

 

Fragments of such memories filled his sleeping hours and when Volyn woke, he felt no more rested than when he’d gone to sleep.

 

“What were you dreaming about?” Solas asked the Dunmer as they prepared to leave.

 

The dark elf shrugged. “Nothing important. Why?”

 

“You kept muttering things,” Varric told him.

 

“Oh,” Volyn said, “Sorry about that.”

 

“I could not identify the language you spoke,” Solas went on, “I merely wondered if you perhaps remembered anything about your past.”

 

“No. I didn’t,” the vampire said shortly, pretending to be preoccupied with his pack.

 

“You know, people really don’t buy the whole ‘I don’t remember’ thing,” Varric said, “What you need is a good story.”

 

“And you should stop giving people that advice,” Velthorn said from across the camp.

 

Varric put up his hands, palms out. “Now now, just because it worked for you, doesn’t mean it’ll work for everyone.”

 

“It worked for me because it’s _true_. And people believe the truth,” the elf retorted.

 

“Whatever you say,” Varric said.

 

With the rain lifted, they got underway. The old keep was just ahead of them, but as they approached the gate, Volyn stopped them.

 

“There are…a lot of footsteps and groaning. I think…I believe there is a horde of undead swarming those gates.”

 

“Wonderful,” the Seeker said, drawing her sword.

 

“What? You don’t like undead in the morning?” Varric asked.

 

Cassandra answered only with a disgruntled noise.

 

Horde was an appropriate word for what they found. Dozens of walking corpses were meandering through the water and over the land. Their bloated faces reminded Volyn of the thralls he’d encountered around the lairs of necromancers, though these undead lacked the purple cracks of death magic. But their blank looks and glazed-over eyes were still the same and still unsettling.

 

“We shouldn’t even worry about them. Get to the gate,” Velthorn said. After assessing the situation, it seemed to be the only feasible way to get through, especially if they still needed to fight the Avvar inside.

 

“Agreed,” Cassandra said, “We should get a shield up and get through them as quickly as possible.”

 

“Hold on,” Volyn said, “Let me distract them so that you might have a clearer path to the gatehouse.”

 

“How do you plan to—”

 

“Go. I’ll be right behind you,” the dark elf cut in.

 

He was gone in a heartbeat, sloshing into the water up to his knees. Every rotting head turned his way as the surface rippled and they began to make a run for the vampire. At the same time, Volyn fired arrows back at them to pick them off.

 

“He’s insane,” Cassandra muttered, exasperated with this whole experience.

 

“But he’s buying us time. Let’s go. I suppose he’ll follow,” Velthorn said.

 

The shamblers had chased after Volyn, leaving the path open for the companions to get to the gate. They were met by Avvar warriors, who attacked on sight. They’d already been worn down by the walking corpses, however, so they were easily defeated.

 

“This is senseless,” Solas commented, “Why do they want this?”

 

“They are called barbarians for a reason,” Cassandra replied.

 

“They must have traded their brains for swords,” Solas sighed.

 

“So it seems,” came Volyn’s voice.

 

He had slipped in when no one was looking. Casually, he was leaned against the rocky wall, arms crossed.

 

“And how did you manage to lose all those undead?” Cassandra asked, taking long strides towards the dark elf.

 

Volyn shrugged. “I led them in a circle. They aren’t very fast, or very bright. And decaying fingers don’t aim a bow as well as one might think. Easy.”

 

“Cassandra, leave him alone,” Velthorn sighed, “This isn’t the time. We’ll discuss it once we’ve found the scouts.”

 

Cassandra begrudgingly agreed.

 

Ahead were more Avvar. After perhaps six small skirmishes, they finally reached what might have once been some sort of throne room. A man at least as tall as Amund stood by the broken throne, war hammer resting easily on his broad shoulders. Several others stood around, some with swords, others with bows. All were leveled their way as they entered the roof-less room.

 

“And so the Herald has come!” the large one proclaimed.

 

“As you asked,” Velthorn returned.

 

“You have come to die!”

 

A volley of arrows rained down on the group, but Solas had anticipated it and put a shield around them before ever entering. The arrows bounced around harmlessly and Cassandra drew her blade.

 

Volyn took out two of the archers with his own bow, the life-draining affect unnoticed in the fray. Cassandra slew another who came after her, turning away the blow with her shield before striking back. Velthorn made quick work of the other assembled archers with a chain lightning spell, which passed back and forth between the Avvar until finally killing all of them.

 

The one who had challenged the Harold was coming in fast and a mage versus a war hammer in a physical confrontation rarely ever went well for the mage. But this mage wasn’t helpless and this wasn’t the first time he’d been in combat.

 

Without an ounce of panic, Velthorn readied another spell and stopped the charging man in his tracks with a strike of lightning. It gave the elf the time to move, running from the center of the battle to one of the pillars that was holding up nothing. But it wasn’t long before the Avvar was coming after him again.

 

“Stop running, little thing!” he bellowed.

 

Velthorn ignored him and hit him with a few bolts of his staff. The man shrugged the electricity off.

 

 _What is he_ made _of?!_ Velthorn thought, rushing to avoid getting hit with the head of the hammer.

 

Then he swung the staff around and the blade caught the man in the chest, tearing through the fur and leather armor. It didn’t go deep enough to hit flesh, but it certainly gave Velthorn an idea of how to defeat this mountain of a man.

 

Again, he ducked out of the way of the war hammer and it smashed through another of the pillars, sending a spray of stone and dust everywhere.

 

At the same time, Velthorn brought the staff blade up, this time shoving it upward with force. It made contact with the flesh, sinking in and causing the man to roar with pain and rage. At the same time, Velthorn unleashed a barrage spell, sending wave after wave of electricity through this man.

 

The Avvar’s eyes went wide as smoke rose from the point of contact. The flesh sizzled and fried. The man couldn’t move, caught by the current, mouth frozen open in an expression of agony. Finally, the spell ended and Velthorn pulled the blade free, taking several precautionary steps back.

 

He needn’t have bothered, though, because the Avvar stumbled, dropping his war hammer to the ground. His body quickly followed, falling back with mouth and eyes still open.

 

Velthorn sighed and leaned back against the nearest pillar, collecting himself. The others were still fighting. No time for collecting himself.

 

A single archer was left standing, trading arrows with Volyn, so Velthorn simply blindsided him with a blast of lightning. Volyn nodded at the Dalish elf and turned his bow on one of the three remaining warriors.

 

One of the three ran, but Volyn gave chase, catching her on the stairs leading away from the room. Away from the eyes of the others, he indulged himself. Who knew when he would get another chance to eat? And she didn’t fight him for long.

 

The battle came to a close and Volyn rejoined the others. No one questioned his brief absence and were more concerned with what had happened to the Inquisition’s people. As everything settled, though, they heard banging coming from the door in the corner.

 

“We’re here!” came the shouting from the other side of the wood.

 

The door was, of course, locked.

 

“Stand away from the door!” Cassandra shouted back.

 

Where the metal and the wood met was weak, the wood rotting away. It made it quite easy for her. She centered herself and broke the door open with a single solid kick of a booted foot.

 

The scouts seemed mostly all right. One of them was badly bruised with possible broken ribs, but the rest were all right. They even insisted they could make it back on their own after learning the path was clear so long as you followed the beacons.

 

“I can’t believe the Herald came for us,” one of them said quietly to another, limping slightly.

 

“I told you he wouldn’t leave us,” another answered.

 

It made Velthorn’s ears burn in embarrassment, but he didn’t say anything. _Let them believe what they need to._

 

* * *

 

 “Have I gotten into your good graces yet?” Volyn asked Cassandra that night at camp.

 

“Hardly. But you have at least proven yourself to be useful,” the Seeker replied.

 

Volyn grinned. “Yes, I can be that.”

 

“Well, I’ll give you this,” Varric said, “You haven’t killed us in our sleep yet.”

 

“I didn’t have any plans to either.”

 

Velthorn spoke up. “If you’d like, we could use your help on more missions like this.”

 

“I don’t have anything better to do,” Volyn said, “Does this mean I’m joining the Inquisition?”

 

Cassandra sighed. “I suppose it does. But you must be more forthcoming about who and what you are. You know more than you are telling, and everyone knows it.”

 

“Again with this?” Volyn asked, but he knew he could only keep up this charade for a short while longer. The evidence against him would continue to stack up.

 

“Yes. And I will continue to ask until I am satisfied you are not lying to me,” Cassandra said.

 

Volyn laughed. “I doubt that time will ever come.”

 

“True enough,” the Seeker admitted.

 

Someone was approaching the camp, and the companions fell silent. Volyn could see the outline of a large man approaching. Heavy footfalls left prints in the muck behind him.

 

“Amund,” Velthorn said, “Hello.”

 

“Greetings,” the Avvar returned, “Your god watches after you, Herald.”

 

“Indeed,” the elf said, finding it easier to agree than to argue semantics.

 

“You’ve killed the brat, I see. His father, Chief of our holding, would duel me for the loss if he cared enough.”

 

“He…won’t care that I’ve killed his son?” Velthorn asked.

 

Amund laughed. “No, Balder has not cared for much in many years.”

 

“Are you to return to them, then?”

 

“I suppose I must, and take the news with me,” the Avvar said, “But I saw your fire and wanted to say that it was an honor to meet you. And I don’t mean as Herald. You came for your people. It speaks well of your leadership.”

 

Velthorn wasn’t sure what to say for a moment, and apparently, no one else knew what to say either. But then a decision was made and he suddenly knew what he needed to do.

 

“The Inquisition has a purpose your Chief lacks. Join us. Join me. Help us seal the Breach.”

 

The Avvar took on a far-away look. “Is this why the Lady of the Skies lead me here? To help heal the wounds in Her skin?” he seemed to ask his surroundings. Then he looked at Velthorn intensely, “Aye. I’ll join you. Let me make peace with my kin and I’ll find where you set your flag.”

 

“I look forward to working with you,” Velthorn said.

 

The Sky Watcher left them after that.

 

“You certainly know how to inspire people,” Volyn noted.

 

Velthorn chuckled nervously, “Not really.”

 

“He has his moments,” Cassandra said, but rather than sounding patronizing, it was teasing.

 

Varric gave the elf a friendly shove on the arm. “Don’t listen to her. She’s probably just jealous you have a personality.”

 

* * *

 

 Haven was the same as it ever was when they returned. After the stifling moisture of the Fallow Mire, however, the party did find it a bit colder than the last time they were there. Dryer too. But that was a positive.

 

Back in the Chantry, Leliana asked how the trip went with their newest companion.

 

Cassandra said, “He was useful and followed orders, but we learned nothing more from him regarding his origins.”

 

“I did not figure he would reveal anything so soon,” Leliana said, nodding.

 

“But he was surprisingly relaxed,” Velthorn put in, “He wasn’t afraid of anything we faced out there, whether it was Avvar giants or the walking corpses. He was adaptable, I mean to say.”

 

The Seeker added, “He’s seen combat before and is very good with both bow and sword, though he obviously prefers the former.”

 

Leliana was thinking; the gears turning. “And no hint whatsoever of any personal details?”

 

Velthorn shook his head. “None.”

 

“Hmm. What do you want to do?” Leliana asked.

 

“If Cassandra is all right with it, I’d like to continue taking him with us. He’ll slip-up sometime,” Velthorn said.

 

At this point, the elf wasn’t sure if it even mattered. Volyn was strange in appearance, but so far had proven to be a worthy companion. If he wanted to keep his past hidden, perhaps it was for a good reason. And even if it wasn’t, he might tell them eventually. Velthorn was curious, yes, they all were, but he also didn’t want to pry.

 

And besides, so far he had only dodged their questions. Most who hid something terrible would become hostile when questioned. He had only been playful, dancing around their questions as if it were a game.

 

But Cassandra and most others were still suspicious. If they wanted answers, this was the way.

 

“That’s fine by me,” Cassandra said.

 

“Now that that’s out of the way, we do have a few other things to discuss, I’m afraid,” Josephine said.

 

Ugh. Velthorn hated the political side of this job.

 

* * *

 

Haven made Volyn homesick.

 

Despite the biting cold, feral animals, dragons, and an over-abundance of bandits, Skyrim had become Volyn’s home. And now he was stuck here, not knowing if he’d ever be able to return.

 

Once more, the dunmer was sitting on the roof of the smithy. It was warm here, a pleasant thing for a creature like himself. The only annoyance was the sharp, constant sound of metal hitting metal. But Volyn had dealt with worse.

 

The dark elf slipped his pack off and pulled out the Black Book. Thankfully, the Inquisition seemed oblivious to it for now. Either they hadn’t opened it themselves or the magic of it didn’t work. Volyn hoped it was the first, but dared not check. His mission was not done and Hermaeus Mora was only so patient.

 

He could not return. Not yet.

 

But how long would he be trapped here? He longed for Serana and Valerica’s garden. He longed for the Sanctuary. He should be training recruits or mixing poisons or something. Not saving a world he didn’t even belong in.

 

The Herald had that covered anyway. He needn’t be involved.

 

Sighing heavily, the vampire slipped the book back into his bag and lay back, looking up at the Breach. It looked like a storm through the misty gloom. Beautiful and powerful.

 

He’d just have to look on the bright side of this trip. He was certainly getting his fill of unseen wonders.


	7. Blackwalls and Redcliffes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve received several comments on fanfiction.net regarding the Dragonborn’s powers, revolving around when we’re going to see someone get shouted to pieces. Everything is planned out. All in due time. I promise.

Since the last time they’d visited the Hinterlands, it had warmed considerably and everything was in full bloom. The trees were full and the air was heavy with humidity and the scents of nature.

 

For Velthorn, it felt like home. The sun on his skin, the fragrance of the wind…He’d never known anything else before the Inquisition and now he felt a deep homesickness rise up in his gut.

 

He couldn’t dwell on it for long. They came over the hill and Redcliffe was in sight.

 

And something had already gone wrong.

 

“Is this normal?” asked Blackwall, the newest member of their party.

 

Leliana had expressed concerns to Velthorn about the Wardens being completely absent. No one had seen any of them recently, except for Blackwall. So they trekked to the Hinterlands to find him, then to move on and take Grand Enchanter Fiona’s invitation.

 

At first, Blackwall had been rightfully suspicious, but had warmed up after hearing their piece. When they’d made to leave, having learned nothing save that Blackwall didn’t know Wardens were disappearing, the man had stopped them.

 

Now they all stood outside Redcliffe, staring at a dormant Rift just feet from the closed gates and the anxious guards.

 

So, either the Rift here was coincidence, or it was somehow placed there.

 

As they approached, Velthorn’s mark sparked beneath his gloves, making his whole hand itch intensely, and the Rift activated at his presence. Demons began to spawn, crawling from the Fade like so many insects.

 

The guards at the gate drew their weapons, shouting about someone getting help. They needn’t have worried. Help was already there.

 

Volyn had his bow drawn and an arrow ready as soon as the demons fully formed. The others also prepared for a fight.

 

An arrow buried itself in the Terror that appeared. It let out an unearthly shriek and turned its head toward Volyn, who only drew another arrow and fired, grinning.

 

Cassandra, Blackwall, and the two gate guards took on another two of the creatures, while Solas, Velthorn, and Varric fired on the Wraiths. All three were finished off by a final chain lightning spell cast by Velthorn.

 

The Herald turned his attention to the Rift, running forward to get close enough to connect to it. But as he did, he felt the air around him change. Suddenly, everyone around him was moving twice as fast as before.

 

He stopped dead in his tracks, confused and worried. He felt like he was moving at normal speed, yet everything else around him was moving so much faster. A bird zoomed across the sky. Arrows came so quickly, they seemed like glimmers in the air. What was happening?

 

The elf continued toward the Rift. Just as suddenly as before, the air changed again and everything was back to normal. For a moment, he was disoriented. He tripped over his own foot as his legs got tangled. But the demons were gone and he had a job to do.

 

Regaining his footing, he raised his marked hand toward the Rift and felt the connection. It tingled, burned, itched, but he kept his arm raised until the Rift closed and disappeared.

 

One of the guards breathlessly said, “Maker have mercy! It’s over.”

 

Velthorn was still thinking about the strange distortion. “What…was that?”

 

Cassandra shook her head. “We don’t know what these Rifts can do. That one appeared to alter the time around it.”

 

Varric said, “That doesn’t sound good.”

 

“The Veil is weaker here than in Haven. And not merely weak, but altered in a way I have not seen,” Solas added.

 

“Like I said,” Varric reaffirmed, “Why did these things have to get weirder?”

 

The guards opened the gate, thanking them over and over for their help.

 

An Inquisition scout greeted them once inside Redcliffe. “Herald. Seeker. We spread word the Inquisition was coming, but you should know, no one here was expecting us.”

 

Confused, Velthorn asked, “No one? Not even Grand Enchanter Fiona?”

 

The scout shook his head. “No one, my Lord. If she was expecting us, she’s given no sign of it. But we’ve arranged for the use of the tavern for negotiations either way.”

 

They thanked him and continued in, more perplexed now than ever. They had seen Grand Enchanter Fiona in Val Royaeux. They all _knew_ that. What was going on here?

 

A mage ran up to them as they descended the hill into the village proper.

 

“Agents of the Inquisition, my apologies. Magister Alexius is in charge now, but he hasn’t yet arrived. He’s expected shortly. You can speak to the former Grand Enchanter in the meantime.”

 

He seemed nervous and too eager to please them. He was afraid. But afraid of whom? Them? Or this Magister Alexius?

 

“Then we’ll speak to the Grand Enchanter,” Velthorn said.

 

“Of course,” the mage said, “She’s waiting in the tavern.”

 

As they came into the village, Volyn pulled his hood lower, hiding his eyes from others and shielding them from the sun. It was too bright today.

 

“That mage said a Magister was in charge now. Have the rebels allied with Tevinter?” Cassandra asked, directing the question toward the rest of the group.

 

“That would be the single worst plan they could come up with,” Varric said. Blackwall gave a gruff noise of agreement.

 

“Let’s just hold our judgements until we figure out what’s going on,” Velthorn said.

 

“That would be wise,” Solas agreed, “However, I doubt it is a coincidence that a Magister has shown up here at the same time as an altered Rift.”

 

Volyn vaguely knew what a Magister was, from reading some of the books in the Chantry back at Haven. But none of those books had mentioned time-altering magic.

 

“Tavern,” Varric said, pointing toward one of the buildings. The painted wooden sign hanging on a pole read “Gull and Lantern”.

 

“I think I’ll wait out here,” Volyn said, “I don’t want to ruin any negotiations that might happen by looking like a demon or anything.”

 

“Stay close,” Cassandra warned.

 

“I promise, I’ll sit right here on this bench until you return,” the vampire assured.

 

He was reminded of something Cicero once said to him and couldn’t help but smile at the memory. Cassandra made her signature disgusted noise, but no further argument.

 

Volyn looked around with a careful eye. The market was full of people, but many of them were wearing robes and carrying staves. They were not the usual inhabitants, then, but the mages of the rebellion he’d heard about. These people smelled of despair and Volyn kept his eyes peeled for the source of the discomfort.

 

Upon entering the tavern, people stopped what they were doing to stare. Both Cassandra and Velthorn were wearing armor adorned with the Inquisition’s crest, so it was natural that they were recognized. Well, that and Velthorn was a Dalish elf traveling with two humans, a dwarf, and a non-Dalish elf. They were an unusual sight.

 

Fiona was waiting for them at one of the tables, but stood as they came into view. She looked at them suspiciously.

 

“Welcome, agents of the Inquisition,” she greeted, “What has brought you to Redcliffe?”

 

“We’re here because of your invitation back in Val Royeaux,” Velthorn said.

 

She shook her head. “You must be mistaken. I haven’t been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave.”

 

Both parties seemed equally confused.

 

“Then who did we speak to?” Cassandra said.

 

“I…I don’t know.” A strange look passed over her face. “Now that you say it, I feel strange. Whoever, or whatever, brought you here, the circumstances have changed. The free mages have already…pledged themselves to the service of the Tevinter Imperium.”

 

Immediately, Cassandra asked, “Do you not fear all of Thedas turning against you? Allying with Tevinter is...” She couldn’t even find the words to finish the sentence. The alliance was a death-wish.

 

Solas added, “We understand you are afraid and desperate, but you deserve better than slavery to Tevinter.”

 

Velthorn said, “I have to agree. Grand Enchanter—”

 

Fiona interrupted him. “That is no longer my title. As one indentured to a Magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you.”

 

The Dalish answered, “Fiona, this is…when did this happen?”

 

She didn’t get the chance to answer. As she opened her mouth to do so, the tavern door opened and all eyes turned.

 

Two men entered the building, one in red and the other in yellow. The one in red was older and obviously the one in charge. He greeted the Inquisition members with a too-wide smile.

 

“Welcome, my friends! I apologize for not greeting you earlier.”

 

Fiona said, “Agents of the Inquisition, allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius.”

 

“You are the one they speak of?” the Magister asked, looking to Velthorn, “The one who survived?”

 

“I am, yes,” the young elf replied. He held up his left hand and removed the glove. The mark, looking like cracks in stone under his skin, sparked green.

 

“Interesting. That’s very interesting,” the Magister muttered, staring at the strange mark.

 

“I’d like to know about this alliance you made with the mages,” Velthorn asked.

 

“Of course,” the magister replied, and gestured to a table.

 

Both parties took their seats and the discussion began. They addressed the obvious first, such as the lack of Arl Teagan’s men, then moved on to the when and how. Just before getting to the actual negotiations, Felix, the magister’s son, suddenly stumbled where he stood. Everyone rose to their feet instantly.

 

“Felix?” Alexius asked, a genuine look of concern on his face. The only genuine thing about him, Velthorn noted.

 

Felix tried to say something, but collapsed on Velthorn’s smaller frame, startling the elf. The young man crushed something into Velthorn’s hand, secretly, quietly, so that no one else would know. The elf held it tight and helped Felix back to his feet. He tried to hide his shock.

 

“Felix, are you all right?” the magister asked again.

 

“I’ll be all right, Father. I’m so sorry,” he apologized.

 

Alexius turned toward the Inquisition. “I’m so sorry, friends. We will have to continue this at a later date. I shall send word to the Inquisition.” He waved a hand at Fiona, a rather dismissing gesture. “I require your assistance at the castle.”

 

In just a few moments, the magister, his son, the Grand Enchanter, and the guards had vacated. The Inquisition members were left fairly speechless amid a crowd of equally quiet guests.

 

Velthorn unwrinkled the bit of parchment in his palm. “You are in danger. Come to the Chantry.”

 

Varric sighed. “Why can’t any of this ever be easy? You know, just walk in, negotiate, create an alliance.”

 

“I think the Creators are laughing at me right now,” Velthorn said. “But I think we should check this out. Carefully.”

 

“It’s probably a trap,” Cassandra said.

 

“But it _is_ worth a look,” Velthorn insisted. His mind was made up.

 

True to his word, Volyn was still sitting on the bench when they exited the tavern.

 

“That was the magister, I take it?” the dark elf asked.

 

Velthorn nodded. “Yes, but the negotiations never happened.”

 

“I heard,” Volyn said, “We’re off to the Chantry, then?”

 

“You could hear that?” Blackwall asked in disbelief.

 

Cassandra answered, “We will explain more about _him_ once we’re away from prying ears.”

 

After a moment, the Warden nodded. “All right.”

 

The Chantry at the top of the hill looked forgotten. Ivy covered an entire wall and was overtaking the roof. A coating of moss obscured the features on a statue of Andraste to their left. Nature had taken this place back and no one seemed to have fought it.

 

Velthorn knew there was a Rift nearby as soon as he came within a foot of the building. His hand told him so, and alerted the rest of the party as well. They drew their weapons before going inside.

 

They weren’t expecting there to be a man inside the Chantry, beating back the demons that started coming from the Rift with his staff as if it were a sword.

 

As the door shut behind them, the man turned to them, showing a tanned face adorned with a slightly curled mustache.

 

“Oh good,” he called, “You’re finally here. Help me close this thing, will you?”

 

The battle was barely that. Only a few lesser demons came through the Rift and soon enough Velthorn stood at the center, a line of electric green connecting him and the tear in the world. It slammed closed with an explosion of ichor.

 

“That is _fascinating_ ,” the unknown man said slowly, looking about himself for any signs of the Rift and finding none. Then he turned back to the elf. “How does that work, exactly?”

 

Velthorn shrugged. “I dunno. Wave my hand about. Feel some things.”

 

The man laughed. “You just wiggle your fingers, and boom! Rift closes.”

 

“Essentially,” Velthorn said.

 

Sounding offended, Solas put in, “There is infinitely more to it than that.”

 

“He’s right,” Velthorn admitted, “But more importantly, who are you? We were expecting Felix to be here.”

 

“Ah, getting ahead of myself, I see,” the man replied, “Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?”

 

Cassandra looked like she smelled something rotten. “Another Tevinter. Why aren’t I surprised?”

 

Dorian’s eyebrows rose. “Suspicious friends you have here.”

 

“You another magister, then?” Blackwall asked.

 

The man’s casual look faded and was replaced with one of contempt. “All right. Let’s say this _once_. I’m a mage from Tevinter, but not a member of the Magisterium. I know Southerners use the terms interchangeably, but that only makes you sound like barbarians.”

 

He sighed and went on, “As for Felix, he was supposed to be here. Got caught up with his father, I suppose. That leaves me to explain.

 

“Felix’s father was once my mentor, so my assistance against him should be valuable, as I’m sure you can imagine. So let’s start with his claiming the allegiance of the mages out from under you and these Rifts that distort time. To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted _time itself_.”

 

Solas spoke up, “That is fascinating, if true. And almost certainly dangerous.”

 

“Yes, it is. And I understand that now more than I ever did,” Dorian agreed.

 

Velthorn thought back to their conversation with the magister. “So…Alexius bent time so he could arrive here just after the Divine’s death? How? Why?”

 

Dorian looked surprised. “You catch on quick. The Rifts here, the ones that twist time? Soon, there will be more and they will appear further and further away from Redcliffe. The magic Aleixus is using is wildly unstable, and it’s unraveling the world.”

 

“That sounds bad,” Varric sighed, for probably the fourth time on this trip alone.

 

Dorian started pacing, thinking as he talked. “When I was still his apprentice, it was pure theory. He could never get it to work. You asked why he’s doing this. I don’t understand it either. Ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackies? He doesn’t need the southern mages, so what’s the grand plan?”

 

“He didn’t do it for them.”

 

The group turned to see Felix, who had entered quietly through a side door. He was pale and sickly looking, but looking no worse than he had earlier.

 

“Took you long enough. Is he suspicious?” Dorian asked.

 

Felix shook his head. “No, but I shouldn’t have played the illness card. I thought he’d be fussing over me all day.” He turned back to the Inquisition members. There was supreme sadness in his eyes. “My father’s joined a cult. Tevinter supremacists. They call themselves Venetori. And I can tell you one thing: whatever he’s done for them, he’s done to get to you.” He pointed to Velthorn.

 

The elf wasn’t really surprised. “Flattering. All this trouble for me?”

 

“Why should we believe you?” Cassandra asked, forward as she always was. “Alexius is your father, and _your_ mentor. Why would you turn on him?”

 

“ _Was_ my mentor,” Dorian corrected.

 

Felix said, “I love my country, and I love my father, but this? Cults, time magic? What he’s doing now is madness. For his own sake, you have to stop him.”

 

Dorian put in, “It would also be nice if he didn’t rip a hole in time. There’s already a hole in the sky.”

 

Velthorn took a moment to think. “What can you tell us about the Venetori?”

 

“I don’t know much,” Felix confessed, “They’re obsessed with you, but I don’t know why. It might be about your survival at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

 

“And you can close the Rifts,” Dorian said, “Maybe there’s a connection there. Or they see you as a threat.”

 

Felix turned even paler. “If the Venetori are behind those Rifts and the Breach in the sky, they’re even worse than I thought.”

 

Dorian looked to Velthorn. “Well, you know you’re his target. Expecting the trap is the first step in turning it to your advantage.” The mage started to take several steps backward. “I can’t stay in Redcliffe. Alexius doesn’t know I’m here and I want to keep it that way for now. But whenever you’re ready to deal with him, I want to be there. I’ll be in touch.”

 

He made to leave, then paused. “Oh, and Felix? Try not to get yourself killed.”

 

As the man left the room, Felix said quietly, “There are worse things than dying, Dorian.” He looked back to the party. “I should get back before my father realizes I was gone. Be careful. You’re the only one who can fix my father’s mess.”

 

With that, he was gone too, leaving the group to its own devices.

 

Almost immediately, Cassandra asked, “Are we going to believe that both Alexius’ son _and_ apprentice want to betray him?”

 

“ _Former_ apprentice,” Velthorn corrected. There was a vast difference in the two.

 

Solas said, “That they are so willing to betray leaves the question: how willing would they be to betray us?”

 

“I believe they are telling the truth,” Volyn said from where he was leaned against one of the pillars.

 

“Why?” Cassandra asked.

 

“Felix is sick, I can smell it on him, but his heart was steady. When people lie, there is a certain quality to the beat that changes. Neither of them changed,” the vampire explained.

 

“You could hear their hearts?” came Blackwall and Cassandra’s simultaneous exclamations.

 

“You know my senses are sharp,” the dark elf said dismissively, “Anyway, I think we should trust them. For now.”

 

“Unfortunately, I agree,” Solas said, “They may very well be telling the truth and their insight will be invaluable to our cause.”

 

Cassandra nodded. “First, we should get out of Redcliffe. We don’t know how far the magister’s influence spreads amongst these people.”

           

* * *

 

After returning from the Hinterlands, Blackwall was questioned by Leliana as to what he knew of the Wardens’ disappearance. She was disappointed, and perhaps a little relieved, to hear his answer that he knew nothing. She had been expecting the worst.

 

Then Volyn was properly introduced to the Warden. The mistrust was clear on the human’s face, unmasked, but he promised to keep an open mind. So far, Volyn had behaved and was to be treated like any other member of the party.

 

After the introduction was over and Blackwall had had some time to adjust, Velthorn went to find him, just as he had done with all of his personal companions. If they were to spend time in the field together, they should at least be on speaking terms.

 

“How does the Inquisition look?” Velthorn asked as he walked up.

 

The Warden was by the smithy and gazing up at the Breach.

 

“It looks like a start,” Blackwall answered, “It’s no army, but Cullen’s training them well and as a whole, it looks like resources are being used properly.”

 

“Glad to hear it,” the elf said.

 

The man looked skyward again. “The Breach is so much easier to ignore from far away. Standing here, so close to it…and you walked out of it.”

 

“Well, not that one, but something similar,” Velthorn said.

 

“Hmm. There’s still so much we don’t know. The Divine, the Breach, and now the Wardens. And you. Where do you fit into all of this?”

 

“Besides the obvious?” Velthorn asked, raising the marked hand. “I’m not sure. I want to stop the war and straighten out this chaos. There seems to be so much more to it than that, the further we investigate. But for now, that’s my goal. And the goal of the Inquisition.”

 

“A worthy goal, and one I’m happy to support.” The man looked relieved at Velthorn’s answer. “For me, I’ll just be satisfied to find the bastards that killed the Divine. They owe us some answers.”

 

“Yes, they do,” Velthorn agreed.

 

* * *

 

“I have never heard of the Venetori,” Leliana admitted, “But now that we have a name, I will tell my spies to be on the lookout.”

 

“Good. We need to be as prepared as possible. We know next to nothing about them, but they know all about Velthorn,” Cassandra said.

 

“Doesn’t everybody these days?” the elf asked with a sigh.

 

“And there’s also the problem with the magister. We can’t simply ignore the problem he poses. He is a foreign threat on our soil. The longer he remains, the more rooted he will become,” Leliana pointed out.

 

“He said he would contact us,” Velthorn said, “But no mention as to when or how.”

 

“He will likely extend an invitation to the Herald, as he is the face of the Inquisition. We must be prepared for when that happens,” Josephine put in.

 

“Or be prepared for his army of mages to come knock our door down,” Cullen said.

 

“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” Velthorn said, “But if it does, we should be ready for them. We were building trebuchets, weren’t we?”

 

“Yes. And they’re complete. But if we’re attacked by mages, I’m not sure how much help they’ll be,” Cullen answered.

 

“We have limited resources in comparison,” Velthorn said, “but that doesn’t mean we won’t put up a fight and do our best with what we have.”

 

The rest of them nodded.

 

“To work then,” Cullen said.

 

Their work began.


	8. Mess with the Bull...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long. I’m in the middle of a cross-country move and have been staying at a friend’s house the last couple weeks. I haven’t seen them in three years, so I’m catching up with my old pals.

“Ugh, why is everything so friggin’ wet?” Sera grumbled, shaking mud off her shoes for probably the dozenth time.

 

“Did you not know we were coming to a place called ‘the Storm Coast’?” Volyn asked.

 

“Well yeah! But that doesn’t mean everything’s got to be slippery! I feel like a fish. A gross, _unhappy_ fish.”

 

“And from what I understand, it’s always this beautiful,” Varric added.

 

Just to make their point, thunder rumbled in the distance.

 

“Will you stop complaining?” Cassandra called to them from the front, “We’re almost to the beach.”

 

The ocean was immense and dotted with monolithic rocks jutting up from beneath the waves. The air smelled of salt and rain, carried on a light breeze that caused that rain to fall sideways. Seagulls flew high above them, screeching as they went.

 

Camped on the beach was an assorted crew comprised of several humans and elves, looking to be of all nationalities. The most obvious of the group, however, was the Qunari standing amongst them.

 

He towered over the humans and seemed even larger when including the horns on his head. His broad chest and shoulders, which were bare, showed that he had light grey skin. Leather boots adorned his feet and he wore wide, red trousers that cinched in down at the ankles.

 

Volyn had never seen such a being and found himself surprised. It had been quite a while since anything had been able to surprise him. The feeling was refreshing.

 

As the crew noticed them, some took up arms, but the Qunari turned and immediately raised a hand.

 

“Chargers! Stand down!” he bellowed.

 

“Iron Bull, I presume?” Velthorn said as they approached.

 

“Yeah, the horns usually give it away,” the Qunari answered with wry smile. “Sooo…you’re with the Inquisition, huh? Glad you could make it.”

 

“Well, we couldn’t miss a chance to kill something, now could we?” Velthorn asked.

 

Bull gave a hearty laugh. “That’s the spirit!”

 

“Is that what we’re waiting for?” Volyn asked, pointing out onto the water, where several ships could be seen.

 

“Yep,” the Qunari answered. “Shouldn’t be too long now, so I’ll give ya a quick rundown. Those are Rocky and Grim. Skinner’s the elf over there. Stitches is our healer. And Dalish is the one with the bow. And I assume you remember my lieutenant, Cremisius Aclassi. Call ‘em Krem.”

 

“Nice to see you again,” Krem said, giving a little bow of his head.

 

“Likewise,” the Herald said, “I’m Velthorn. These are Cassandra, Varric, Solas, Sera, and Volyn.”

 

“So, when do we get to poke something full of holes?” Sera asked.

 

“Soon as those ships make land. Best spot for that is just around that corner, so we’ll be in the perfect position to ambush them.”

 

“What in blazes is wrong with your eyes?” Stitches suddenly exclaimed, staring at Volyn.

 

“It’s a condition,” the dark elf replied casually.

 

Stitches sneered. “That’s not like any condition I’ve ever seen.”

 

Volyn shrugged. His eyes swept over the rest of the group now that the attention was on him. There was determination in their faces. Loyalty. And in the face of the, what, Qunari? Suspicion. Scrutiny.

 

There was more to the Iron Bull than met the eye; Volyn was certain of that.

 

“Don’t mind him,” Velthorn said.

 

“Yes, I swear I’ll be good,” the vampire said with a smirk, “I just happened to be standing where a Rift opened up. Gave me amnesia and this unusual appearance.”

 

Bull grunted in reply, knowing a lie when he heard one. The Tevinter ships were out of sight now.

 

“Stand ready, Chargers.”

 

The fight that followed was brief and vicious. The four ships that came ashore were unprepared for the combined efforts of the Inquisition’s best and the Bull’s Chargers. Before they even knew what had hit them, three had been turned into pincushions and the rest were surprised by a bolt of lightning in their midst.

 

After the initial assault, the warriors charged in with magical shields provided by Solas and Velthorn. A singular mage was among the enemies. He threw a ball of fire towards the archers, who narrowly avoided becoming living torches.

 

Using his natural stealth, the vampire skirted around the fight and went for the mage. But the man saw Volyn coming and cast another fireball.

 

Mentally cursing, the dark elf crouched and leaped, vaulting over the flames. As soon as his feet hit the ground, they slid out from under him. The stones here were slick with algae and Volyn suddenly found himself on his back.

 

Thankfully, he had a vampire’s reaction time and managed to scramble to his feet quick enough to avoid yet another fiery blast.

 

 _This would be so much easier if I could just use_ all _of my strengths_ , Volyn lamented. But he pressed on, rolling behind one of the Chargers and disappearing into the fight. The mage tried to find him, but there was too much activity to keep track of him in this gloomy weather. Sand was kicked up in plumes, further muddying his view.

 

Suddenly, the mage was choking on a dagger embedded in his throat, blocking his airway and spilling his blood down the front of his robes. More squelched out and coated the hand holding the weapon as it was pulled free. The dagger changed direction and plunged into the mage’s chest, slicing his heart into two halves.

 

Already forgotten, his body fell to the ground as Volyn found another target.

 

* * *

 

 

As it turned out, the Storm Coast was not only wet and mossy, but it was also full of mountainous hills and crevices. The terrain was hard to manage, even for Velthorn, who’d grown up in the wild, and for Volyn, who had vampiric reflexes to rely on.

 

Bull had joined their party after the fight and a discussion on what his joining would entail. Velthorn had agreed to the terms and Bull had sent the Chargers to meet up with Scout Harding and her team. Meanwhile, the rest of them would carry on searching for the missing, and possibly captured, scouts.

 

“Why did they think reasoning with the bandits was a good idea?” Varric asked.

 

“That is a very good question,” Cassandra said, “One I’m sure will be answered.”

 

“I just hope we don’t find their corpses,” Velthorn told them.

 

“Yeah…That would be…” he agreed.

 

“It would suck,” Sera said.

 

“Eloquently put,” Volyn told her.

 

Sera’s mouth pulled down in a sharp frown. “Nobody asked you.”

 

Volyn shrugged, a grin on his face. Sera made a noise of disgust.

 

After several long, wet hours, the seven of them finally reached the meeting place. As far as they could tell, it was deserted. The only things still there were the broken buildings that once belonged to someone, but now were no more than reminders on the landscape.

 

“Well, no sign of the scouts,” Varric said.

 

“We should look around all the same,” Solas suggested, “We might find clues as to where they, or the bandits, might have gone.”

 

Velthorn nodded. “Sera, Cassandra, and Solas take the building on the right. We’ll look at this one. Then we’ll spread out and look around if we can’t find anything.”

 

As the group went closer, Volyn was hit with the scent of death. For the most part, the constant rain and the salty smell of the ocean overpowered any other smells, but it was obvious this close.

 

“I don’t think we’re going to like what we find,” Volyn told them.

 

“Why? What do you smell?” Velthorn asked. He’d become quite comfortable with trusting Volyn’s senses.

 

“Death,” Volyn answered.

 

Velthorn tried the door. “It’s locked.”

 

With a grin, Bull stepped up to the front. “Allow me.”

 

With one great kick, the door was knocked inward and off its rusted hinges. It clattered back into the structure and came to a stop, resting atop a pile of bodies.

 

The awful smell wafted out and assaulted their noses.

 

“Ugh.” Velthorn tried not to breathe as they entered, but the smell stung his eyes.

 

“This wet weather has caused the bodies to decay faster,” Volyn said, leaning down to examine them.

 

The bodies had been stripped of valuables, but the armor with the Inquisition’s crest remained. Likely because it would be too recognizable to sell.

 

“Murdered,” Volyn announced, noting the various stab wounds and the slit throats.

 

“Shit,” Varric repeated.

 

“Well,” Velthorn said, “Look around. Anything useful here?”

 

From the side of the room, Bull said, “Something here. A note. Addressed to the Inquisition from the Blades of Hessarian. It says the Inquisition’s Herald is a false prophet and the Blades of Hessarian were doing Andraste’s work by killing the scouts.”

 

“Good,” Velthorn said wryly, “More religious fanatics.”

 

They regrouped with the others and related what they’d found.

 

“Hessarian’s blade represents mercy, not this,” Cassandra said disgustedly, “But I have heard of this group. If I’m not mistaken, they serve only those they deem worthy and there is a way to challenge their leader. Perhaps we can put the Blades of Hessarian on a better path.”

 

Velthorn nodded. “We should report back to Scout Harding. She’ll want to know what we found. Then we’ll see about what to do with the Blades.”

 

Volyn felt a pang of homesickness again as the young elf mentioned ‘the Blades’. The vampire had cut ties with Delphine and the entire Blades order after they told him to kill Paarthurnax. They couldn’t be convinced that there was no need and the old dragon was still very much useful to him. There was still much he needed to learn about the dragon language and about being dragonborn.

 

But the Blades could also still be useful and so he’d let them live. That way, if he should ever require them, they would still be there. However, if they happened to get themselves incinerated by a rogue dragon somewhere, then that was on them.

 

* * *

 

 

As it turned out, there was a way to challenge the Hessarian’s leader. The challenger only need approach the leader wearing a pendant called the Crest of Mercy. Within a few hours after returning to camp, they had one crafted and ready to be used.

 

“Deciding a worthy leader by a test of strength is a faulty system at best,” Bull said.

 

The Qunari was walking beside Velthorn as they headed down the coast. One of Leliana’s birds, a highly trained and intelligent animal, lead the way to where it had seen an encampment. Volyn had taken point right behind the bird, his senses making him an obvious choice to scout the location. The rest followed, carful to watch for followers.

 

“I agree,” Velthorn replied, “Skill is all well and good, but that doesn’t make you a good leader.”

 

Bull nodded. “Speaking of which, who _is_ leading the Inquisition?”

 

“Oh. Well, Cassandra is our driving force. It’s a group effort, but she’s our leader in all but name.”

 

“You sure about that? So far, you’ve been the one leading us,” Bull pointed out.

 

That gave Velthorn pause. “Yes…but this isn’t a big decision. Not really.”

 

“If you say so. Just something to think about,” the Qunari said.

 

The thought unnerved Velthorn. He wasn’t sure he was ready or worthy of being a leader of anything, much less something as large and influential as the Inquisition.

 

When he was still only Velthorn the Keeper’s First, the thought of one day leading the Clan and being responsible for their survival had been terrifying. Keeper Deshanna had tried to quell his fears, telling him that when the time came, he would become ready. He hoped the Keeper had been right.

 

“We’ve found them,” Volyn said, having returned to the group.

 

Sera put in, “These arse-hats had better be worth it.”

 

Velthorn, who bore the Crest of Mercy, led the way. There were several archers posted around the valley the camp was set in, but they lowered their bows at the sight of the necklace. The two standing guard at the entrance were surprised, but opened the wooden doors for them.

 

The encampment was basic. There were wooden shelters set up for the members of the group, stables for the few horses, and a shabby house that was presumably for the leader. That thought was confirmed as a woman in full armor exited, then a man right after her.

 

He stood a nearly seven feet tall, almost a whole two feet taller than Velthorn. There was a blade on his side and a two-handed war axe in a sheath on his back. Stringy brown hair hung over his face. His expression was a scowl.

 

“And just who are you to challenge me?” he asked. Even his voice was gruff. Everything about him screamed bad news.

 

Trying to swallow his nervousness, Velthorn replied, “I represent the Inquisition. I’m here to challenge you for control of the Blades of Hessarian.”

 

The human gave a bellowing laugh. “You? You are going to challenge me?” He laughed again. “If you insist.”

 

With that, he pulled the war axe from its holder and brought it around. Velthorn similarly removed his staff from the leather holder on his own back. The Herald’s companions moved away, as it was only the one wearing the Crest who was allowed to challenge the Hessarian’s leader. The elf was on his own.

 

The two circled each other slowly, waiting for the other to make the first move. With a quick motion, Velthorn shot a bolt of lightning at the man, which struck the end of his axe. But the handle was covered in leather and the electricity wasn’t as effective as it could be. But it did give him enough cover to put a shield up.

 

The man lunged at him with a cry, swinging the axe around. The elf just barely managed to dodge out of its way and brought the sharp end of his staff up to strike the man in the face. The spear-like tip sliced through the man’s cheek and left a long line of blood across his face.

 

He let out a shout of pain and came at Velthorn again, aiming low. The elf jumped back, putting him off balance, but let out a barrage spell just the same. The magical bolts arced up into the air and came back around to strike the man in the back just as he was readying another swing.

 

He screamed through clenched teeth as the electricity coursed through him. Velthorn used the blunted end of the staff to hit the man hard across the face, sending him stumbling to the side. The large man fell to his knees and Velthorn placed the spear tip against his neck.

 

“Surrender or I’ll be forced to end this.”

 

The man chuckled and raised his dark eyes up to look at Velthorn. “Then end it. I’ll not surrender to the likes of you.”

 

Velthorn hesitated and it was just long enough for the man to bypass the spearhead and bring a knife up, aiming for the young elf’s ribs. Velthorn didn’t have the time to react.

 

The knife stopped short. The former leader of the Blades of Hessarian dropped the weapon as his arms went slack, an arrow sprouting from between his eyes. The big man fell forward, dead.

 

“Let it be known that anyone else who challenges the Herald now, will get the same treatment,” Volyn announced, lowering his bow.

 

Several of the assembled members looked at each other, but said nothing. Then, one of them came forward. She lowered herself to her one knee with a fist over her heart.

 

“We are at your service, Herald.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You could have gotten us killed with that stunt,” Cassandra accused angrily.

 

“But I didn’t,” Volyn answered. He knew she was going to argue with him, so he continued, “Besides, if I hadn’t done something, our friend here would be lying with a knife between his ribs. It was a calculated risk I thought needed to be taken; as much as you thought challenging the man would be a risk worth taking.”

 

Cassandra answered with a disgruntled huff but knew he was right. Had he not acted, Velthorn would be dead.

 

“You did not need to kill him. You could have wounded him,” she pointed out.

 

“So that he could try again?” Volyn countered.

 

Sighing, Velthorn said, “Enough. It’s done and it worked out in our favor.”

 

“But we can’t rely on luck,” Solas said. He honestly wasn’t siding with either one of them, as he understood the necessity of calculated risks, but also knew they couldn’t count on it always working out.

 

“And we won’t,” Velthorn replied, “But it isn’t worth arguing about. I knew the danger I was putting myself in and Volyn made a split-second decision. If the rest had decided to attack us, then we would have worried about it. But they didn’t, so there isn’t anything to fight about.

 

“This time, we were going in blind and didn’t know the terrain. We won’t take risks like this again until we have a few extra back-up plans. Agreed?”

 

Both Cassandra and Volyn nodded.

 

“Good.”

 

* * *

 

 

Velthorn and the advisors were standing in the war room. The elf had barely gotten any sleep after returning from the Storm Coast with their newest recruits before a runner had dropped a letter off with them.

 

It was addressed to the Herald of Andraste from Magister Gereon Alexius.

 

Three days earlier, while the party had been on their way back, Dorian had shown up in Haven. Leliana had promptly questioned him on everything he knew about Alexius and his people, while the rest of Haven treated him with mistrust. But his information had helped Leliana form plans.

 

Now it was time to make a pivotal decision.

 

“It asks that he come alone,” Josephine said.

 

“Clearly a trap,” Cullen added to that.

 

The woman nodded. “Surely, but we cannot refuse. Such a thing would be an insult to the magister and likely a provocation for retaliation.”

 

“Then I’ll go,” Velthorn told them, “I have to go.”

 

“It would be suicide,” Cullen returned, “And we can’t send you in there on a mission we know will fail.”

 

Velthorn looked down at the map, though he wasn’t looking at it. He was thinking. They needed a plan. Something that could turn the tide to their advantage. But what? They needed people in that building to stop the Venetori that were surely lurking there.

 

“Is there any way we can get people inside the castle?” the elf asked, “Anything hidden? A sewer? A waterline?”

 

“No, Redcliffe castle has stood against hundreds of assaults. There’s no way to get anyone in without being seen,” Cullen said, the frustration clear in his voice.

 

“No, wait,” Leliana said, “There is one way. A secret passage. It was built for the family to escape should there be the need. I can send a few people at a time through the passages.”

 

“It’s too risky,” Cullen protested, “They’ll be spotted. And even if they aren’t, we don’t know how many of these cultists are inside.”

 

“It’s worth a shot,” Velthorn insisted. “I can distract Alexius long enough for Leliana’s people to get through. Once they’re in place, we can try to reason with him. I don’t want this to come to a fight. He might try to open more time-Rifts.”

 

Cullen heaved a great sigh. “If you think the risk is worth it, then fine. But you’ll be alone in there.”

 

“No, he won’t,” Cassandra said. She’d been quiet throughout the conversation, listening to the back and forth. “I’ll go with him. As a bodyguard or whatever else Alexius wants to think.”

 

“The letter said ‘alone’,” Josephine reminded.

 

“I don’t care. He isn’t going alone and Alexius will have to accept that. We are going for negotiations, after all, and the Herald does not travel alone,” Cassandra countered.

 

Now it was Josephine’s turn to sigh, though it was a much lesser degree. “I will write up our answer.”

 

“And I will begin coordinating my people,” Leliana said. Each of them went their separate ways.

 

An hour later, Leliana noticed Volyn skulking around between the buildings as she went over the plans.

 

“Do you need something?” she asked him, suspicious. She had heard of his incredible senses and knew he had heard every word she’d said to the assembled spies and scouts.

 

Striding over, Volyn told her, “I want to go in with your people. I can help.”

 

“You help is not required,” Leliana said.

 

“I _will_ go in, with or without your approval,” the dunmer returned, “I asked first only because it’s polite.”

 

Warning bells were going off in the Orlesian’s head and she had long ago learned to trust her instincts. Volyn has his own agenda, she was sure of that, but she knew nothing of him outside of his travels with the Inquisition. As far as she knew, he had no past. So what was he looking for? Why was he still here if he could so easily leave?

 

“All right, but I expect you to follow my orders. This will be risky and you will not endanger the lives of my people, Cassandra, or the Herald. Understand?” Leliana said.

 

The corner of the vampire’s mouth turned up into a half-smile. “Understood. Thank you _so much_ , Lady Nightingale.”


	9. To Know Your Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re finally moved into the new house and things can get back on track. Sorry for all the delays.
> 
> Also, I took a bunch of liberties with the way TES vampires work and the design for the Vampire Lord form. Instead of how they looked in the game, they'll keep the glowing eyes and look basically like Dracula in the movie Van Helsing (2004), but with a more bat-like face, a long tail, and a mane around the neck. That way being a Vampire Lord feels more vicious and terrifying.

The conversation with Alexius wasn’t going well. He’d shot down any attempts at negotiation Velthorn tried, but they needed to give their agents time to get into position. The elf wasn’t sure how much time he could buy them, at this rate.

 

“It seems we are at an impasse, Herald,” the magister said.

 

“So it seems,” Velthorn replied.

 

“A pity. I had hoped we could work together. It seems that was not to be.”

 

“I only have one more thing to offer,” Velthorn said, “I know you’re a magical researcher. Surely the Breach interests you. Collaborate with us to learn more. We can share any and all information on it with you. Perhaps even get you close to it, personally.”

 

Alexius leaned forward in his seat, looking more invested than he had the entire meeting. His son stood uncomfortably at his side, looking around the room nervously.

 

“That _is_ an interesting offer. I have been wanting to see the Breach for myself. But how did you know I research magic?”

 

Velthorn gave him a confident smile. “You didn’t think we would walk into these negotiations blindly, did you?”

 

“Indeed not,” the magister replied.

 

Suddenly, Felix addressed his father. “My Lord. Father. They know everything.”

 

“What do you mean?” Alexius asked, looking toward the younger man.

 

“I told them everything. About the Venatori and the time Rifts.” He looked so incredibly guilty.

 

Alexius stood, facing his son. “What have you done?”

 

From behind Velthorn and Cassandra, there came the twang of bowstrings and the guards fell, arrows in their chests. As they lay dying, Inquisition scouts, Leliana’s people, took their places.

 

“He’s done the right thing,” Dorian said, stepping out from behind a pillar. “Isn’t this sort of extremism exactly what we didn’t want?”

 

The magister turned on the group, shouting, “You know nothing of what you speak!”

 

“They’re concerned for you, Alexius,” Velthorn said, taking a step forward. “Your son is worried for you. That you’ve gotten involved in something terrible.”

 

“Please listen to them, father,” Felix said.

 

Alexius looked at his son. The sickness was clear in his face. The Blight would kill him. It would be an awful death. His son deserved better.

 

“No. I will take care of this. The Elder One will save you and _no one is going to get in my way_!” the magister shouted. He thrust a necklace in the air.

 

At the same moment the Rift opened, Dorian shouted, “No!” and attempted to throw Velthorn out of the way, but it was too late. Both of them fell through and into the swirling lights.

 

“Blood of the Elder One! Where did they come from?” a voice exclaimed.

 

When the bright spots died from his vision, Velthorn realized he was standing in cold, knee-height water. All around him were stone walls and iron-barred cells ran the length of the room. Dorian had appeared next to him and also seemed to be having trouble getting his bearings.

 

The loud screech of a gate turned his attention to the two men running into the flooded room. He raised his staff and wove a shield around himself and Dorian.

 

“Look out!” he called to the human, because the guards had drawn their swords.

 

Dorian had regained his senses and now also raised his staff. He twirled it around and hit both across the face with the blunted end. Stunned, they stumbled back and Dorian moved away from them a ways.

 

With some space between them, Dorian took aim and hurled a massive fireball at them both.

 

The men tried to move, but were instantly cooked in their armor. They dropped like potato sacks into the murky water.

 

“Well, so far this has been fun,” Dorian said with a sigh.

 

“Nothing is ever dull around me,” Velthorn lamented.

 

“You know, I was getting that impression.”

 

Velthorn sighed now. “So, where are we?”

 

Both of them looked around, but Dorian said, “I’d say we were still in the castle, but look in the corner. That’s red lyrium, isn’t it?”

 

“Yes. And I don’t remember coming across any, especially in this amount, anywhere near Redcliffe.”

 

“Hmm,” Dorian thought, “Perhaps if…I mean we could be…I suppose it isn’t only a matter of where, but of _when_.”

 

Velthorn looked at him, eyebrows arched high. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

 

“It seems we’ve been temporally displaced.” Dorian seemed oddly pleased despite the direness of the situation. Velthorn felt a thrill of panic in his gut.

 

“Can we get back?” Velthorn asked.

 

“I…might be able to reverse the spell, given I have the necklace Alexius used. It’s the focus. I might be able to open a Rift to take us to another focus in time. Hopefully ours.”

 

“Something is better than nothing. For now, we should probably get out of this water.”

 

* * *

 

 

The lower dungeon rooms seemed all the same; full of broken crates, water, and rodents. They rose up a level and left the water behind. This was yet another level of dungeon cells and closed doors. Red lyrium grew from the cracks in the mortar and split the stones apart, allowing dirt to fall through.

 

“What could have caused this?” Dorian asked.

 

Velthorn shook his head. “I don’t know. I suppose, if we’ve been transported through time, we _could_ be in a future where the Elder One gained power. There was red lyrium at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, so it can’t be a coincidence that it’s here. Whatever this lyrium is, everything that’s happening seems to have connections to it.

 

“Varric has been trying to find out what it is. He’s asked around Orzammar and his surface connections, but no one’s seen it before.

 

“Well, it gives me a headache,” Dorian said, “When we get back, we should definitely do something about it.”

 

“Agreed.”

 

Faint footsteps made them pause for a moment, and Velthorn looked around for somewhere to hide. It wouldn’t do to have the entire castle called down upon them.

 

One of the doors was unlocked and they slipped inside to avoid detection. It was pitch black in the room, but Velthorn kept the door cracked to see who was coming by. If they could find the keys to this place, it might make it easier to search or to escape.

 

A man came by, dressed in red and silver armor. He didn’t make any sound and had a hard expression in his face. He came to a stop in front of a door on the opposite wall and used one of the keys on his key ring to unlock it.

 

That room was well lit, and as the man entered, it sounded like he greeted someone. He closed the door behind him.

 

“I think there’s someone in that room,” Velthorn said, rising from his squatting position.

 

“And?” Dorian asked.

 

Velthorn looked at him as he opened the door. “And I think we should see what’s going on. What if someone needs our help?”

 

“Yes, but if we get into a fight and call all the guards to us, then _we’ll_ be the ones needing help.”

 

There was a peculiar noise from behind the door, like metal on metal. Velthorn didn’t hesitate to slowly open it, just to see what was going on, and was appalled at what he saw.

 

Slumped against a roughly ‘Y’ shaped slab of stone was a familiar grey-skinned elf. At the tips of the ‘Y’, his hands had steel spikes driven through them and into the stone, as well as chains wrapped around the wrists. Blood oozed out from the wounds and down his bare arms, where they met the metal collar around his neck. It dug painfully into his throat, leaving a dark line, as a chain attached to the back of the collar was the only thing holding his head up. His eyes were closed.

 

The only clothing left on him was a pair of trousers, now frayed and stained. A collection of scars indicated that the dark elf had seen some nasty injuries, but none of the scars were resent, though there was blood abound. In vials and bowls. On the floor. On various instruments. On trays with unidentifiable tissues.

 

In fact, the only clean surface in the room was the one dotted with papers. Diagrams and scribbled notes covered the parchment in every available space.

 

The man they’d seen before was mixing some of that blood in with a yellowish liquid, obviously doing some type of experiment with it.

 

Horrified, and having had his suspicions confirmed, Velthorn rushed the man and hit him as hard as he could over the head with his staff.

 

The glass container he’d been holding dropped onto the table and spilled, while the man himself fell to the floor.

 

Dorian was right on Velthorn’s heels.

 

“What are they doing in here? This is…not normal,” Dorian gasped.

 

“Neither is he. Help me get him down,” Velthorn said, grabbing the keys off the man’s belt.

 

He may not have been normal, but Volyn didn’t deserve this. No one did.

 

It took him a few tries, but he eventually found the proper key which undid the locks holding the dark elf in place.

 

Volyn would have fallen to the floor had Dorian not caught him.

 

“So, what is he exactly?”

 

“I have absolutely no idea,” Velthorn answered, “He came from the Breach.”

 

“Oh, _that’s_ good. ‘I don’t know what it is, but let’s take it with us, shall we?’” Dorian mocked.

 

A low growl stopped the conversation short. The body against Dorian shuddered and Volyn lifted his head. His expression was wild. His fangs were bared.

 

“Are those—?”

 

Dorian’s question was cut off by the door swinging open. A second researcher was coming in, but stopped in the doorway at the sight of the intruders.

 

He would have called for help too, except…

 

Well.

 

There was an irate and starving vampire looking for the object of his agony.

 

And as the vampire went after him, _scientist and torturer!_ , there was only the hunger, and the hunger on its own was savage and uncaring.

 

Velthorn and Dorian watched in horror as the vampire viciously tore into the man’s throat, silencing any words he might have spoken. There was a low growl audible between desperate swallows, but otherwise the dark elf was completely focused on his task.

 

The man struggled and gurgled, trying to breathe, but the vampire wasn’t having it. He broke the struggling arm, crushing it in his hand as if it were no more than a dry stick. The other he pinned to the ground, nearly crushing it too in a carelessly tight grip.

 

By the time the hunger waned, the man was dead and Volyn began to return to himself just as the blood hit his system. It made him dizzy and his strength gave out. He lay atop the corpse, trying to regain his senses, but thinking was hard and he felt helpless as a baby rat.

 

The mages were looking at each other, unsure of what they’d just seen.

 

“Did you know he did that?” Dorian asked.

 

“No,” Velthorn answered.

 

“You think he’ll do that throat-tearing thing to us?”

 

“I have no idea.”

 

“No,” Volyn wheezed out.

 

With no small measure of caution, Velthorn knelt by the vampire, who was attempting to raise himself.

 

“Are you all right?”

 

Volyn’s fingers gripped the stones and his arms shook. He felt weak. He hadn’t felt this weak since Harkon had taken him into Molag Bal’s shrine room those many months ago, telling him that he would either accept his ‘gift’ or die. Accepting the gift hadn’t been preferable in those next few hours.

 

“No,” the dark elf said again, “but I will be.”

 

Velthorn offered him a hand and a steady glowing gaze stared at those hands with confusion and suspicion.

 

“You see me do _this_ and your first reaction is to offer aid? You should have learned from the Seeker,” the vampire weakly laughed.

 

“I can and will defend myself. But I won’t turn away from someone in pain.” That gloved hand was still extended.

 

Volyn took it. “You and I have very different ways of dealing with suffering.”

 

“Now,” Dorian interrupted, “if you don’t mind, could you please explain just what’s going on? What in the Void are you?”

 

“We’re called vampires,” Volyn explained, wiping his mouth vainly and cringing at the mess. He’d turned into one of those slavering creatures that crawled about in caves. “We survive on a diet of blood. No, we are not a product of blood mages, not the kind you know, but yes I use blood magic.

 

“If you’ll allow, I do have one question of my own,” Volyn said, “How are you here?”

 

Velthorn was about to explain, but Dorian has his own piece to say. “Oh no. You can’t change the subject now.”

 

“We don’t have time for this,” Velthorn insisted.

 

Dorian looked at the elf and that insistent face of his. “Ugh. Very well. But we _will_ be going over this when we get back.”

 

“Get back?” Volyn prompted, retrieving some of the researcher’s spare clothes, things kept for after the experimenting.

 

“We were sent forward in time. We just aren’t sure of how long yet,” Velthorn told him.

 

Volyn gave a humorless laugh. “I believe it’s been about a year since your supposed death.”

 

“A year? We missed an entire year?” Dorian exclaimed.

 

The dark elf’s mouth turned down in a grimace. “It was…quite a year. I’ll tell you about it as we go along. There may be others of the Inquisition here. We should look around for them.” He looked at the unconscious man by the table. “I’ll take care of him.”

 

As they progressed through the halls, Volyn explained about the time-distorting Rifts appearing more and more frequently. Without anyone to close the Rifts, they just kept spreading father and farther from the Breach, causing mass chaos. Then there was the fall of Orlais after Empress Celene was assassinated and the army of demons that swept through to further disorganize and destroy remaining opposition.

 

“We couldn’t do anything to help. Solas disappeared one night, leaving without telling anyone. Even Leliana’s people couldn’t find him. Cassandra…died fighting. Varric left soon after. Things went out of control very quickly after you were gone,” Volyn finished.

 

Velthorn was speechless. He kept staring forward because he thought if he didn’t, he might lose track of where he was going. He felt a little light-headed.

 

“I can’t be…that important. I’m not—I’m just not what people want me to be.”

 

“Take it from someone who knows; heroes aren’t always ready to be heroes when they are needed,” Volyn told him.

 

“Who _are_ you?” Dorian asked, though it was mostly rhetorical.

 

“That is a question better asked of me a year ago,” Volyn said.

 

“You wouldn’t answer a year ago,” Velthorn pointed out.

 

“Then make me _listen_ ,” Volyn insisted, his voice absent of its usual carefree nature, “This future, if it can be avoided, cannot come to pass. The Elder One has won here and that cannot happen. Not for the sake of your world and all its people.” He stopped, subtly sniffing the air. “We have company coming.”

 

On cue, Velthorn could suddenly hear the loud sound of boots on stone rapidly approaching. Moments later, so could Dorian. Both mages readied their staves.

 

But Volyn raised a hand to them. “No. These are mine.”

 

A cloud of red appeared around one of Volyn’s hands, like a blood mist. A very appropriate visual for the spell’s purpose.

 

As the armored men and women rounded the corner, half a dozen of them, Volyn drew on his magicka, something he hadn’t been able to do in those restraints. Their studies on him had unfortunately bore fruit.

 

But these people were unprepared for what they’d found. As soon as they came into view, Volyn let the spell loose and it began to pull in their very life-force.

 

Caught off guard, most of them fell to their knees instantly, feeling the fuzziness and nausea rising. Blood surfaced on their skin from a thousand tiny, stinging wounds, beading and flying toward the swirling mist in the dark elf’s hand.

 

The mage of the group tried to use a counter spell, but found himself too weak to do so.

 

Within ten seconds, none of them could move. Within half a minute, they were nothing more than bloodless husks.

 

“Well that was blood magic if I’ve ever seen it,” Dorian said.

 

“Yes.” The vampire was looking much better now. And the mages weren’t sure if that was comforting or not. It was as though the blood he’d pulled in had been directly absorbed by his body.

 

“Then are you a mage?” Velthorn asked as they continued. He took one last look at the bodies as they stepped around them.

 

“Where I come from, most can use magic innately, but choose not to develop it. There is no danger of demons there and the magic comes not from the Fade, but from within. We call it magicka.”

 

That was a gross over-simplification, but it would have to do. Volyn didn’t have the energy or the patience to explain about the multiverse that was his own world.

 

“Where _do_ you come from?” Dorian questioned.

 

Volyn didn’t answer, and the mages looked at each other in concern once again.

 

Something caught Dorian’s eye as they passed the pile of corpses.

 

“Hold on. What is that?”

 

Something red glinted on the belt of the dead mage. Dorian went to pick it up, but Velthorn grabbed his wrist. Immediately after, the elf withdrew his hand, embarrassed that he’d just had the audacity to _grab_ a near perfect stranger.

 

“Don’t touch it. Red lyrium,” the elf said.

 

“Hmm.”

 

Instead of touching it with his bare hands, Dorian used a bit of torn cloth from the dead man’s robe to pick it up.

 

“It’s carved,” Dorian observed, “But I don’t know what these runes are.”

 

Velthorn took a closer look. “They look like the runes on the shards we’ve been finding with the Ocularum.”

 

“The what?” Dorian asked.

 

Velthorn shook his head. “I’ll explain later. But I think this might be useful. We should keep it with us, just don’t let it touch your skin.”

 

“Duly noted,” the human said, tucking the crystal away in a bag on his belt. “So, what were they doing to you anyway?”

 

Volyn looked at him steadily. “They tried to break my mind using blood magic; make me subservient to their cause. But they have no idea of the things I’ve been through. My mind is my own.”

 

Dorian went unusually quiet after that, a look of hard contemplation on his face.

 

He remained quiet as they went further into the castle and discovered that much of it was wrecked. What wasn’t covered in filth, decaying bodies, and rotting blood, had been torn apart by red lyrium jutting from every angle. It grew out of the very walls like some infection.

 

Velthorn’s hand sparked to life along the way, the cracks along his fingers glowing brightly through the glove.

 

“I’m guessing that means a Rift is nearby,” Dorian said.

 

“How very astute of you,” Volyn said, but he was only half paying attention to what was being said behind him.

 

They came through a door and indeed there was a Rift here. It was dormant, but at Velthorn’s behest, it opened. They made quick work of the demons and closed the Rift before looking about the room. There were two exits. Both led to hallways.

 

“Split up,” Volyn said, “It’s the fastest way. If Alexius is in the castle at the moment, he’ll be up top. I used to hear them speak about it. That he was losing his mind. Becoming paranoid. Had a strange door installed to keep people out of the throne room for his stays.”

 

“I guess we’re off to the throne room,” Velthorn said.

 

“You two go that way. I’ll see where this leads,” Volyn directed.

 

“Why?” Dorian asked, curious as to why the vampire would want to separate. Ulterior motive, perhaps?

 

“I’ll be able to find you. Just go,” Volyn said, then he was gone.

 

“He likes his air-of-mystery act quite a lot, doesn’t he?” Dorian remarked.

 

The elf nodded. “Everything about him is a mystery. Like I said, he came out of the Breach and hasn’t told us anything of himself further than his name. Until now. But…that doesn’t really matter right now. We need to focus on getting us back in time so none of this ever happens.”

 

“Agreed. I mean, who in the world did their decorating here? It’s atrocious. I think I liked the dog motifs better.”

 

Velthorn couldn’t help but laugh. This certainly wasn’t the time for thinking about such things, but had Dorian not been present with his constant sarcasm and natural charisma, the elf likely would have found himself completely out of sorts about this entire thing.

 

Magical anomalies weren’t over his head, he’d spent many afternoons talking with Solas about the way the Breach could be affecting magic, but _actually and physically traveling through time_? It was a bit much, even for the Herald of Andraste (who didn’t actually remember walking out of the Fade).

 

The two paths wrapped around and they met up with Volyn again on the other side. Along the way, in one of the rooms, they found a sleeping mage. She heard them enter the room, however, and immediately hurled a flurry of ice at them. Luckily, they avoided the attack and killed her, then found one of the strange shards of red lyrium amongst her things.

 

“I found one as well,” Volyn informed them, giving the shard to Dorian. The mage tucked them with the others.

 

“That’s three so far. I wonder what they’re for,” Dorian mused aloud.

 

“They must be important, or we wouldn’t be finding so many of them,” Velthorn reasoned.

 

“Precisely. So let’s get a move on. We have to find Alexius.”

 

* * *

 

 

The castle took several more twists and turns, sporting more Rifts, red lyrium, and cultists. The group easily dispatched everything in their way and moved on until they reached a curious stone door.

 

“I’ve never seen anything like that before,” Dorian admitted.

 

“Neither have I,” Velthorn said. “But look at these markings in these slots. Those lyrium pieces we picked up should fit here.”

 

“And we just so happened to have all five. Good job us,” Dorian added.

 

He slid the lyrium shards into their proper slots, each one clicking into place. When the final one was in, they lit up bright red and so did the crest in the center of the door. It swung open with a grinding sound.

 

With a deep breath, Velthorn entered first.

 

Alexius was indeed in this room, pacing back and forth before a table set in the center of the room. Nothing had changed much over the last year, except for the large lyrium crystals growing from the walls, glowing an angry red in the semi-dark.

 

As the door opened, the magister looked up and stood a shaky step back, recognizing who was entering.

 

“I knew you’d be back,” he said as the two approached.

 

“We need to end this,” Velthorn told him. “Look at what you’ve done. Look at everything that’s happened!”

 

“Look at what you’ve done to your own son,” came Volyn’s voice from behind.

 

The vampire held what remained of Felix with one hand. The young man, once looking sickly, but normal, was now pale and nothing more than a husk of his former self. His head lolled to the side and he stared blankly forward, his once brown eyes now glazed.

 

“ _That’s Felix_?” Dorian said with alarm. His expression changed to a disturbed frown. “What have you done?! Alexius…Maker, what have you become?”

 

“I saved him!” the magister shouted. He whirled around on Volyn. “Please, let him go! Leave him alone!”

 

“I’ll let him go when you reverse what you’ve done,” Volyn said darkly.

 

“Fine, fine! Please, just don’t hurt him,” the magister cried.

 

With clumsy, fumbling fingers, he removed the necklace he wore. There was a square pendant on the end.

 

“Is that the same one we made?” Dorian asked.

 

“Yes,” Alexius said.

 

A Rift exploded open right between Alexius and Volyn, but instead of a Rift under Alexius’s command, this was something else.

 

An enormous Pride demon formed from the Rift, standing as tall as the pillars next to it. Volyn growled at it, sounding more animal than humanoid, and the demon chuckled. Its eyes were set on Alexius.

 

“No! I’ll correct my mistake! I swear!” the magister shouted.

 

“Too late, little mage,” the demon said, voice deep.

 

Alexius tried to defend himself, firing a small barrage of fireballs at the demon, but it swatted them away and crushed him under one of his hands. Bones crunched and blood gushed from between the creature’s fingers.

 

Volyn growled again, hunger roused.

 

“We have to get to that pendant,” Velthorn said.

 

Dorian was silent, but nodded.

 

The demon turned their way and began to walk toward them. From behind, Volyn launched himself at the creature, landing on its back and hanging on by the spikes there. The demon growled and its skin lit up with electricity.

 

As Volyn hit the ground, snarling and partially paralyzed, the two mages went to work. Dorian hit the beast with a face full of fire, distracting it as Velthorn made a run for the Rift it had come through.

 

The creature saw this, however, and threw a ball of lighting in his path. So focused on his task, he was hit in the side and blasted to the ground. With a scream, he fell to the ground, all his muscles spasming.

 

“Velthorn!” Dorian shouted, trying to find an opportunity to help the downed elf. But now the demon was completely focused on him.

 

Volyn got to his feet, legs still shaking. He was tired and hungry and angry. Snarling, he felt his body changing, shifting, becoming something monstrous. It was nothing like becoming a werewolf. This change was more like being remolded rather than being morphed.

 

Newly shaped, the Vampire Lord spread his wings and leaped into the air. He took hold of the demon’s head and sank his claws into the chitinous skin.

 

The demon roared and shook, at the same time trying to remove him with its own clawed hands. But Volyn was stubborn and sank teeth into the top of the creature’s head before letting go and taking to the air again.

 

He landed between Dorian and the demon, spreading his wings wide and shrieking at it. The demon roared back and hurled electricity at him.

 

While the demon was busy, Dorian saw his opportunity. He ran to Velthorn, who was still on the ground. The man put a hand on the elf’s back, helping him sit up.

 

“Are you all right?” Dorian asked.

 

Though his body was still trembling, Velthorn felt better than he thought he would. “Yes, I’m fine. Let’s get to the Rift.”

 

“By the way,” Dorian said as they made a run for the Rift, “Your friend has turned into some kind of monster back there.”

 

“What?” Velthorn glanced over at the fighting creatures and glimpsed what used to be the dark elf, “ _That’s_ Volyn?”

 

“I’m assuming you didn’t know he did that either,” Dorian said.

 

“No. And we’re definitely going to have a talk. Provided we get back,” the elf said, raising his hand toward the Rift.

 

The demon looked back, _feeling_ that something was wrong with the Rift. A line of green connected it to the elf. It went to shoot them with lightning, but the vampire obscured its vision.

 

“ _When_ we get back,” Dorian corrected, “It’s best to think positively in times like this, yes?”

 

Bellowing in rage, the demon flailed its arms, but the vampire was persistent. He swiped at the demon’s face and scratched a row of eyes out. Reflexively, it swatted the vampire out of the air, but saw that it was too late. The Rift exploded into dormancy and the demon felt it like a physical blow. It dropped to one knee.

 

Simultaneously, the mages took aim and shot the creature with bolts of fire. They could smell its singed and burning flesh, but it still got to its feet again.

 

With a great roar of his own, Volyn launched himself from the ground and up at the demon’s face, swiping at the thing’s already wounded eyes with outstretched claws. He sank those claws into the empty eye sockets, plunging them deep as they could go. As the demon shook its head, desperate to remove the vampire, the mages fired bolts from their staves.

 

Volyn held on tightly, hooking the claws of his feet into the creature’s chest and hanging on. With his other hand, he slashed his claws across the demon’s neck, spilling black fluid everywhere.

 

“Volyn!” Velthorn shouted, “Move!”

 

Immediately, the vampire backed off, using the demon’s chest as a launching point. He maneuvered himself in the air and came to land beside the mages.

 

Together, Velthorn and Dorian created a ring of fire around the demon. It blazed to life, putting a barrier between it and them. They didn’t waste their time; they started sending bolts of magic at it again.

 

It growled deeply at them, glaring with its remaining eyes. The creature raised its arms, charging an electrical attack between its hands. Then it slammed those hands down on the ground, creating an electrified field around itself and just barely stopping before the three companions.

 

The demon hurled two more electrical spheres at them, making them end their assault and move out of the way. But they could tell the creature was slowing. Its oozing wounds were sapping its strength. Though its blood didn’t flow like mortals’ blood, the bleeding was still taking its toll.

 

“A few more good hits and this demon is good as dust,” Dorian said, peeking out from behind the pillar.

 

“Good. I’m running out of energy over here,” Velthorn replied.

 

“Really? I could do this all day!” the Tevinter boasted. Velthorn rolled his eyes, but smiled nonetheless.

 

In truth, both men were becoming exhausted. They’d come across a few lyrium potions in the lower portions of the castle, but that didn’t stop the ache in their muscles.

 

“All right, here’s what we’re going to do,” Velthorn said, “Dorian and I will distract it with a barrage spell. Volyn, follow our spells and try to take it out. Keep aiming for its head and neck.”

 

The vampire nodded, his tail whipping back and forth like an agitated cat. The form he was in now was enormous in comparison with his usual humanoid form. His body was broader and the wings on his back, even folded, were clearly very large.

 

“Are you with me?” the elf asked Dorian.

 

Dorian also nodded. “Of course. You haven’t led us astray this far.”

 

“Then let’s go,” Velthorn said.

 

The mages leapt from behind the pillar, dodging the energy balls that were hurtling through the air at them. Each grounded their staves on the stones and let loose bolts of magic. For Dorian, these bolts were made of fire, while Velthorn’s were lightning. The bolts mingled in the air, twisting and turning before focusing on the demon.

 

The demon swatted at the bolts of magic as if it were swatting away flies, but then Volyn came crashing down on it. With renewed vigor and vicious strength, the vampire tore at the demon’s face, taking off chunks of flesh and flinging both it and black blood everywhere.

 

Finally, the demon fell. Even as the vampire continued his assault, the demon crumpled and became black mist, which was absorbed into the Rift.

 

Not wasting a moment, Velthorn closed it.

 

“Well, that was an absolute joy,” Dorian said.

 

Velthorn nodded tiredly. “Let’s get that amulet and see if we can get home.”

 

They approached the mangled body of the magister. Dorian made a strange noise in his throat and his expression seemed pained.

 

“We couldn’t help him. But we can help the Alexius in our time,” Velthorn said, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder. He hoped it was comforting and not overstepping bounds.

 

Dorian looked at him. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. It’s just…ah, never mind. Let’s get back.”

 

Velthorn didn’t dwell on it. If he didn’t want to talk about it, that was all right. There were still things about the Conclave he still didn’t want to talk about. He’d lost not only a good friend, but his entire clan. They were still out there, sure, and they’d even exchanged a few letters, but his entire life was here now.

 

“Here’s the necklace.” Velthorn handed it to his human companion.

 

“All right. I’m going to need some time to work this out.”

 

“How much time?” came Volyn’s tired voice. He was back in his humanoid form.

 

“An hour? Maybe more? I need to work out a few things,” Dorian answered.

 

Volyn looked up and around, as if something were crawling on the ceiling. “I don’t think you have that much time.”

 

Dorian was about to ask why when all three of them suddenly heard a horrible sound. Some sort of screeching, audible even though the thick stone walls of the castle.

 

“He’s coming. You have to go _now_!” Volyn shouted. “I’ll see what I can do about holding them off.”

 

“Wai—” Velthorn tried to say.

 

“Go! For all our sakes _go_!” the vampire insisted, then he was running out the door they came through. It closed behind him.

 

Velthorn turned to Dorian. “How quickly do you think you can do this?”

 

“Give me five minutes. Maker, I hope this works. We never could get it to work back in Minrathous. I wonder what’s changed…”

 

“Well, there’s the Breach, for one thing,” Velthorn said.

 

Dorian blinked. “Oh! Of course! Why didn’t I realize…”

 

He was lost in thought for a moment before snapping back to the present. His grey-brown eyes traveled down to the necklace in his hand, still wet with Alexius’s blood. Blood which was now all over his fingers. Dorian sighed, then closed his eyes.

 

At first, Dorian only managed to conjure a few sparks. Within a few minutes, however, the spark was becoming a full-blown Rift. But as the minutes ticked by, the noises from outside became more worrisome.

 

A thunderous roar and crashing sound had both men snapping their heads around toward the strange door. Immediately following, the stone wall began to crumble under the weight of something enormous. One huge, clawed foot fell through the wall, then the entire thing collapsed.

 

The mages weren’t entirely sure what they were seeing at first. It was massive, taking up the entire room, and both realized it was a dragon at the same time. When it opened its maw, it was nothing but arm length teeth.

 

“Come on!” Dorian shouted, grabbing Velthorn by the arm and tugging him into the Rift that had finally opened.

 

Velthorn glanced behind him one more time, only to see Volyn bearing the full brunt of the dragon’s powerful breath attack. He was gone in one red blast.


	10. A Monster's Origins

Volyn was sitting in a chair before the semi-circle of the Herald’s personal companions and the Inquisition’s leaders. After telling everyone of what had happened on their little journey into the future, everyone was now curious and demanding to know _everything_ about him.

 

Velthorn was nervous, but endeavored not to show it. As he looked at Volyn, he remembered the other form he’d taken. The enormous wings, the glowing eyes, and the claws. What sat before him was a dangerous creature. He was docile now, but that could change in an instant.

 

Still…the vampire had been traveling with them for nearly two months now and what he’d seen in that awful future didn’t change anything.

 

 _Except my perspective_ , Velthorn thought.

 

“What did you want to know?” Volyn asked, easing back into his chair.

 

“I suppose we’ll start with the basics. Who are you and where do you come from?” the Dalish asked.

 

Volyn was still reluctant, but he knew the game was done. He let out a long breath, and began.

 

“I’m Volyn of the Imperial City. I’m an orphan with no last name who grew up raised by thieves and whores on the Waterfront District.” _Mostly true._

 

“What, exactly, is the Imperial City?” Cassandra asked.

 

“Let me explain in full, then you can ask questions,” the dunmer continued, “This place is not my homeland nor my home _world_. I come from a place called Nirn and I work for a creature called a daedra. You might call it a demon.”

 

Cassandra narrowed her eyes, but held her tongue. Velthorn had begged her to hear him out.

 

“It’s more than a demon. It’s a Daedric Prince. The Princes are like…dark gods, and there are sixteen of them in total.” He paused, giving them time to process. “The one I serve is called Hermaeus Mora, the Prince of fate, memories, and knowledge. He especially loves hidden knowledge. Secrets. And this place is a great mystery to him.

 

“I’m here in this world because he felt the Breach before it happened. He felt its coming and sent me to the exact place where it would rip through my world. The Time-Wound, as my old mentor called it. The place where my world was already weak, where time and space had been cracked by an Elder Scroll; the knowledge of the gods.”

 

“Gods?” Cullen asked, “What gods?”

 

“ _The_ gods,” Volyn explained, “The Aedra of my world are very much real and supposedly the Scrolls were given to mortal-kind by these gods. The Scrolls have prophecies and can show the past and future, as well as many other things. But reading them often causes blindness, madness, or both.”

 

Cassandra tried to say something, but Volyn raised a hand, asking for silence.

 

“I went to the Time-Wound and was pulled through as the Breach was created. I’m not entirely sure what happened. I remember the blinding light and horrendous pain, then blackness until I woke up here, in the dungeon.”

 

There was silence from everyone. Except Sera, who burst into mad little giggles.

 

“Even I couldn’t come up with a story like that,” Varric said.

 

“See? Now this is why I didn’t tell you,” Volyn said.

 

Cassandra said, “If you are really from another world, working for this demon in a quest for knowledge, why are you still here? Why are you helping us?”

 

Volyn’s hellfire eyes rested on her. “Where else should I be? The Breach is a mystery even to you. As long as you continue to explore it, you will learn more about it. And so will I. As you grow in power, the more knowledge you will obtain. And so will I. The farther you pursue the Divine’s death, the clearer things become for you and for I.

 

“In short, I will start with this mystery and move on to another should one present itself.”

 

Once more, the party was silent for a long while.

 

Solas asked, “How do you plan to get back to your own world?”

 

“My Prince has a tie to my world. A Black Book. It leads to his domain in Oblivion. I’m hoping I can get back to Tamriel through it, but it is not a guarantee.”

 

“You came to another world with no guaranteed way back?” Solas said.

 

“I didn’t have a choice,” Volyn told him. “I watched Hermaeus Mora liquify his last Champion. I don’t plan on dying anytime soon.”

 

“Ugh!” Sera exclaimed at the word ‘liquify’.

 

“Why would you serve such a creature?” Cassandra asked.

 

“I have learned much from Apocrypha. My Prince’s library is…extensive. I have read texts from thousands of years ago. I know techniques which have been lost to the ages. I know truths the rest of the world has forgotten.”

 

“Is knowledge worth the price this ‘Prince’ asks of you?” Solas asked.

 

“It always will be,” Volyn answered, “My body may belong to Hermaeus Mora, but my soul belongs to Sithis. I know where I will return, even if I never see home again.”

 

“That’s incredibly grim,” Dorian put in. “Also, can I write down the words I don’t understand and get definitions later?”

 

“If you’d like,” Volyn said with a small smile.

 

“Good,” Dorian said, “Because I have _many_ questions.”

 

“You are here for your own gains. We can’t trust you,” Cullen said.

 

“And you could trust me before?” Volyn countered, “Trust that I will stay here until the mystery is solved, whether that be tomorrow or ten years from now. I am on this mission indefinitely, as much as I hate that idea.”

 

“But this isn’t all we’re here to discuss, is it?” Velthorn asked. “Your future self said there was much more to you than being a…vampire. What else is there?”

 

Volyn looked over them. So far, many had been unusually quiet. Bull was leaned against the wall with his arms folded over his massive chest. Blackwall was looking at him with a hard gaze, standing behind the chairs. One hand rested on the hilt of his blade. Leliana’s quiet, thoughtful gaze rested on him with complete focus.

 

“I’m…dragonborn,” the vampire confessed.

 

“Which means…?” prompted Velthorn.

 

Volyn sighed. “I’m a mortal born with the soul of a dragon. When I kill dragons, I absorb their souls and gain their memories and their power.”

 

“Dragonborn, huh? You don’t look like a dragon to me,” Bull said from the corner.

 

“A dragon in _soul_ , not a dragon in body,” the dark elf replied. “I can use Shouts and learn them innately. The Shouts are how the dragons breathe fire or frost, but there are a multitude of other types of Shouts that serve other purposes.”

 

“Dragon are wild. No more intelligent than a cat,” Cassandra countered.

 

“Not in my world. My mentor was a dragon named Paarthurnax. I have another as my ally named Odahviing.” Volyn sighed. “Let me tell you the whole story.”

 

Volyn relayed the legends about Alduin and about the great dragon’s return. He spoke of how he’d learned he was dragonborn in the first place, as well as the major events that had transpired as a result. He told them about saving the world from Alduin’s greedy soul.

 

The parts he didn’t mention were the fact that he was an assassin who’d killed the Emperor. Or that he’d tracked down that piece of scum Maro, changed him into a vampire, and locked him in the Aetherium Forge to starve. Perhaps he was still down there, screaming curses. Or perhaps he’d thrown himself into the magma stream. It didn’t matter either way to Volyn.

 

When he’d finished the tale, he looked at Velthorn. “So believe me when I say I understand what it’s like to be thrust into the role of ‘hero’.

 

“And what about the blood drinking bit?” Dorian asked, “How did that happen?”

 

“I’ve been a vampire for about two years,” Volyn lazily explained, “Bitten along the way in some cave I’d been hired to clear out. I didn’t notice until the disease had already taken its toll. I didn’t find it to be a big deal, although people did wonder about the eyes.

 

“As for being a Vampire Lord…” Volyn paused to find the right words.

 

“A group called the Dawnguard was recently reform. They’re vampire hunters borne of necessity, as attacks by large groups of vampires had become commonplace. I was following a few of them, wondering what they were up to, only to stumble upon some sort of plot.

 

“I followed them to a cave complex, where the Dawnguard members were killed. But my curiosity was piqued, so I investigated for them. The attacks had become a problem and by this point, I too was exasperated by the short-sightedness of my own kind. I killed all the vampires there.”

 

“You killed your own kind?” Solas asked.

 

Volyn nodded. “They were ignorant and vile. Cave crawlers. They are the kind who bloat themselves on blood not out of necessity or hunger, but out of greed. It helps no one to drive our food source to the brink. As I said, I was tired of them.

 

“As it turned out, the cave was actually a tomb. It housed Serana, a vampire who had been asleep for something like a thousand years. And she had an Elder Scroll with her. Again, I was intrigued, so I took her home at her request. Once there, I was offered the power of a Vampire Lord and took it.”

 

“Surely there’s more to it than that,” Dorian protested, “You called it a disease, but you also said vampires were created by one of these Daedric Princes. It’s magical isn’t it? A magical disease?”

 

“Yes, exactly. A magical disease,” Volyn agreed. “To answer your question, yes, there was more to it. Har—He drained me of so much blood, I was sure I’d die. Then he flooded my system with his own blood to enact the change. When I woke, I was more powerful than ever.”

 

Volyn still had a hard time saying his name. The dark elf had never felt so powerless than at the hands of that sadist. What had he been expecting when the rest of the Court had laughed at his acceptance of the ‘gift’? What else had he been expecting from a worshiper of Molag Bal?

 

He was still angry and probably always would be. Had the pain and humiliation been worth it? Yes. But it didn’t quell the fiery rage that burned in him every day. If he could kill the former Lord of the Court again, he would. A thousand times over.

 

Leliana notices this hesitation

 

“Now you know what I’ve been keeping secret,” Volyn said. “Is there anything I’ve missed?”

 

“I want specifics on your condition,” Leliana said, “We need to know we can keep our people safe from you.”

 

“I understand. But I can point out to you the people I’ve bitten while I’ve been here. I promise you they’re fine and they don’t remember. I’m not like the one who made me.”

 

“You will not victimize anyone else so long as you are here,” Cassandra said sternly. “If we must work with you, you will not put our people at risk.”

 

“I need to eat, Cassandra,” the vampire replied, “What do you propose I do?”

 

“We encounter plenty of bandits on our travels. I’m sure you’ve done it before,” Cassandra told him.

 

“I have. I suppose I’ll simply spread out my meals,” the vampire said agreeably. He had no intention of doing any such thing, but if saying so got the Seeker off his back, he’d say it.

 

“So now we have to share space with all those mages _and_ a weird dragon-vampy thing?” Sera put in. “I think you’re just asking for trouble.”

 

Velthorn stood up and went to stand near the vampire, who watched him curiously. “Maybe we are. But he’s been our ally this far and I think we can trust him to stay and _not_ kill anyone we know.”

 

“You are right,” Leliana said, “So far, he has been an asset. A pushy asset, but an asset. I would like him to stay.”

 

Besides, if they let him go, he would no longer be in their sight, which could be disastrous.

 

“I agree,” Josephine said. As an afterthought, she added, “As long as we keep him out of sight of visiting officials.”

 

“I’ll do my best,” Volyn assured her.

 

“I vote he goes,” Cullen said. “He’s a danger to our people and our reputation. Especially if anyone finds out about his true nature and intensions.”

 

“Why should I ever tell anyone about myself?” Volyn asked rhetorically, “The only reason I’m telling you is because I’m working so closely with you.”

 

“And you won’t work with anyone in the future?” Cullen asked him incredulously.

 

Volyn almost sighed, but held it back. “This is an oddity. I very rarely work with anyone for longer than a few days.”

 

Except for the Dark Brotherhood. But he wasn’t going to tell them that now that he had their trust. Something told him they wouldn’t like his profession or his Family. These people were working for the greater good and while that was usually fine, people like that tended to be rather…closed-minded to people like himself.

 

“We’re three to one,” Cassandra said, “What do we do?”

 

For the first time, Blackwall spoke up, “For what it’s worth, I think he should stay. If only to keep an eye on him ourselves.”

 

“Smart,” Bull said.

 

“Well I don’t like him!” Sera nearly shouted, “And he can stay on the other side of camp!”

 

“That’s fair,” Volyn told her.

 

“No! Don’t talk to me!” she cried, clasping her hands over her ears like a child, “You’ll twist my mind around until I don’t know what to think! Some brain magic or some rubbish.”

 

“I’ve never used magic on you,” Volyn calmly protested.

 

“It’s fine, Sera. He’ll stay away from you,” Velthorn said. Then he looked at the vampire. “Yes?”

 

“I swear,” he replied.

 

“Sure, fine. But if I wake up missing something important, like _my throat_ , I know who to blame” the elf said, crossing her arms over her chest.

 

“Good,” Velthorn said, “Anyone else have any problems they want to get out right now?”

 

“No problems, boss, just a question,” Bull said. “How many dragons have you killed?”

 

“Oh.” Volyn had to think hard on that. How many _had_ he killed? “Perhaps…fifty? After a while, I lost count.”

 

He gave a guttural sound in reply. “Now _that’s_ something I’d sign on to see.”

 

Cassandra scoffed. “That’s impossible.”

 

“If you say so,” Volyn said with a shrug, “Killing them isn’t the most troubling part, though their scales are something to be reckoned with. It’s the _souls_. I absorb their souls when I kill them and get their memories. Sometimes I wake from dreams and forget who I am for a few moments.”

 

“There’s always a trade-off for power,” Bull told him.

 

“Very true,” Volyn agreed, nodding.

 

“Is that it?” Velthorn asked. No one said anything. “All right. And not a word of this to anyone else, yes?”

 

There were various affirmative answers before they all began to file out of the room. The elf let out a long breath.

 

“That wasn’t nearly as hard as it could have been,” Volyn noted.

 

“It’s still…a lot,” Velthorn answered.

 

Dorian was the only one left now and he approached the two.

 

“What’s on your mind?” Velthorn asked him.

 

“Well, I have a great many questions, but I wasn’t about to hold the others up.” He looked at Volyn. “Would you mind spending some time answering questions?”

 

“Not at all. So long as I get to ask a few of my own,” Volyn replied.

 

“Deal,” the human said immediately.

 

Velthorn watched the two leave with a slight worry in his gut. Who knew what those two could get up to together?


	11. In Your Heart Shall Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't change any of Corypheus's lines because honestly, it's the best villain monologue I've ever heard.

Velthorn was sitting on the steps of the Chantry, contemplating the sky. The place where the Breach had been was still marred, but the Breach itself was gone.

His hand still tingled, as if the connection was still open between him and the hole in the world. He could still feel the power of all those mages flowing through him, feeding the connection. The elf shivered.

“You okay?” Varric asked him, coming to stand beside him.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” the Dalish responded.

Varric gave a little laugh. “You know you should be celebrating, right?”

Everyone else was. People were drinking, laughing, dancing. The tavern was overflowing. Velthorn could see Blackwall sitting by one of the fires, chatting with some Inquisition soldier the elf didn’t know. Even the normally withdrawn Vivienne, who was used to much more sophisticated parties, had come to take part in the festivities.

“I know,” Velthorn replied, “There’s so much still to do. I just…don’t feel like it’s over. It feels like something is still coming.”

“Well, you have every reason to be anxious,” the dwarf admitted, “but today, we had a real win. Shit, you closed the _hole in the sky_. That’s got to count for something.”

“But we still don’t know who killed the Divine. Or who created the Breach,” the elf pointed out.

Varric sighed, then chuckled. “But look at what we _have_ accomplished. You have to give yourself more credit.” Velthorn was silent. “Come join us when you’re ready.”

Velthorn forced a smile. “Thanks, Varric. I will.”

\-----

Two days passed. Haven celebrated the Inquisition and its success. But Velthorn was right and there was still much to be done. As things settled down, work began again.

“We are still getting reports of Rifts in areas outside of the Inquisition’s influence, but closing the Breach has opened a few paths for us,” Leliana reported.

Josephine added, “Now that we’ve shown we’re more than just promises, people are more willing to talk.”

“That’s good,” Velthorn said.

“More than just good,” Josephine said with a smile, “People are coming to _us_ now.”

“No more begging at the feet of our betters?” Velthorn asked jokingly.

Josephine gave a little laugh. “No, Master Lavellan.”

“So, what are we going to do about the Rifts left behind?”

Cullen explained where the Rifts were and Josephine gave information on who to ally with in order to reach those Rifts. The former Knight Commander also expressed the need for more troops. People to locate remaining Rifts as well as cut down demons that still roamed freely.

They were in the middle of logistics when Volyn came in.

“We have a problem,” he said, with all seriousness, “An army approaches from the south.”

“ _What_?” Josephine asked, clearly shocked.

“You should look for yourself,” Volyn told them.

Outside, most everyone was staring at the mountains in the distance, whose surface seemed to be moving. Hundreds of people were marching through the snow, occasionally illuminated by the light of torches. Bull and the Chargers were already at the town gates.

“But who are they? They bear no banners or crests,” Josephine asked.

“I don’t—”

Cullen was cut off as a loud banging rattled the city doors on the hinges.

“I can’t come in unless you open!” came a shout from the other side.

Cautious and curious, Velthorn motioned for the men manning the doors to open them. The advisers followed him out, all of them confused by the sight of a young man in an enormous hat.

Instantly, the young man, surrounded by what seemed to be dead Templars, turned to them and said, “I’m Cole. I came to warn you, to help. People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know.”

“What is this?” Cassandra asked, “What’s going on?”

Cole’s mouth drew down in a frown. “The Templars come to kill you,” he said darkly, looking directly in Velthorn’s eyes.

“Templars?!” Cullen exclaimed, causing Cole to jump back slightly like a startled cat. But Cullen hardly noticed, sounding baffled. He looked up at the approaching army. “Is this the Order’s response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?”

“The red Templars went to the Elder One. You know him? He knows you. You took his mages,” Cole said.

The way he moved made him seem manic. If Velthorn didn’t know any better, he’d say the boy was mad. Yet everything he was saying made perfect sense. Everyone had said they’d struck a blow against the Elder One at Redcliffe. But Solas had warned him.

_“This Elder One will not stand idly by as you undo his work. Be on your guard.”_

“Cullen?” Velthorn asked, ignoring the ‘red Templar’ bit for now, “What do we do? At this point, any plan will do.”

Cullen’s eyes went everywhere for a moment, looking back at Haven’s walls, then to the training grounds, and back to the horde.

“Haven is no fortress. If we are to withstand _that_ , we must control the battle. Use the trebuchets. Hit the force with everything we’ve got.”

By this point, several Inquisition soldiers stood outside the gates, looking up at the mountains. Mages, common folk, and Chantry sisters stood amongst them. Many more stood inside, awaiting orders.

Cullen turned to these people. Most looked terrified. Some seemed determined. Their grim faces reflected their odds of coming out of this alive. But sometimes, hope can help pull people through. The ex-Templar took a breath.

“Mages!” he shouted, “You have sanction to engage them! They will not make it easy, so use everything you have! Inquisition! With the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!”

The assembly gave a great cheer, and Cullen set about giving specific instructions. Leliana addressed her scouts and spies. Josephine guided children and various common folk toward the Chantry. Volyn stood beside the young elf, waiting for his decision.

Dorian, quickly followed by Sera, Blackwall, and Solas, manifested from the crowd.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Dorian asked.

Velthorn and the rest of the companions watched over the soldiers put in charge of firing the trebuchets, watching the massive army get closer and closer.

“We have company,” Solas said, nodding his head to the right.

At first, they only appeared to be shadows in the darkness, but as they appeared in the torchlight, something was clearly wrong. Though many were dressed in Templar armor and they were still humanoid in shape, calling the people would be difficult.

For some, the changes were minor. Eyes that crackled and glowed red. A reddish hue to the skin. For others, the changes were much more drastic. Entire arms and legs encased in red crystal, sharpened to a point.

One such creature came at them faster than they’d expected, and it impaled one of the Inquisition soldiers through the chest with one of his arms. Solas immediately cast a shield spell around all who remained.

“Keep that trebuchet firing!” Velthorn instructed the remaining woman. She nodded frantically, loading it with more stones.

Cassandra and Blackwall charged the creature, who snarled in response and used his arms to deflect attacks. More Templars began to surround the platform the trebuchet had been built on, swarming from either side of it.

“Bull!” Velthorn shouted, “You and the Chargers take that side! Solas, keep a shield around them! Sera and Varric, fire at anything that moves out there! Dorian, put a wall of fire behind us! We must keep them contained!”

Volyn was suddenly beside the elf. “Shall I take the fight to them?”

After half a second of consideration, Velthorn nodded. “Just don’t let anyone who doesn’t know see you transform.”

“Will do,” the vampire said with a wicked grin. He took off, sprinting for the woods.

As he hit the trees, Volyn began the process. Within moments, he was in the air, gliding over the frozen lake. Soon enough, he found his prey. Some of the Templars screamed as he descended on them, claws tearing through exposed flesh and armor alike.

The others fought hard, but the red Templar’s were resilient. Not only that, but they retained they Templar training, their powers only amplified by the red lyrium growing inside them. Velthorn, Dorian, and Solas were all hit powerfully by the magic dampening.

“That doesn’t feel good!” Dorian said over the chaos, using his staff to defend himself from an oncoming attack. He’d never experienced a Templar’s attacks for himself.

“Herald!” one of the Inquisition soldiers called, “The other trebuchet isn’t firing!”

“They must’ve been overrun. Bull! Can you and the Chargers get over there?” Velthorn asked. “Make sure they’re okay?”

“Can do, Boss,” the Qunari replied, “Form up, Chargers!”

Giving a grunt of effort, Bull used his axe to throw the man he was currently fighting, sending him back a few feet. The Chargers followed him from the battle.

“We should follow them,” Solas said, “There are too many here. We need to fall back.”

He was right, of course. No matter how many were cut down, more streamed in. They couldn’t fight an entire army.

“Right. Go. Everyone, with the Chargers!”

It was a losing battle there too, but they did manage to get the trebuchet loaded. There was a brief break in the flood on enemies, and Velthorn aimed at the mountainside and fired.

The hit practically brought the mountain down on the opposing enemy.

“Hey!” Bull exclaimed, giving Velthorn a heavy-handed pat on the back. “Good shot!”

A screeching roar sounded from above, a sound Velthorn was unfortunately familiar with. His mind was draw back to an enormous foot crushing a wall. His gaze was instantly draw upward.

“Dragon. The dragon,” Velthorn said. He saw it against the white of the mountaintop. “Move!”

The creature hit the trebuchet the party had just been standing on with a blast of red fire. It didn’t stick around to watch it burn. Instead, it swooped overhead and continued on, destroying the other trebuchet.

“We need to pull back! Head for the gates!” the elf cried to his companions.

Cullen had everyone gather in the Chantry, the only building not made entirely out of wood. Unfortunately, that meant it was packed full. Beyond full. They’d already had a few hundred of their own here. Added to that were the mages. People were practically on top of each other.

In the little space they had, the advisers met up. Cole sat in the corner beside a bleeding Roderick, who apparently tried to stop a Templar and ended up nearly gutted.

While discussing options, Roderick spoke, almost like a fever dream. Telling them of a path that could save the people. Tunnels hidden and nearly forgotten.

“It would take time to get everyone out,” Cullen said.

“I’ll buy some time. The Elder One came for me,” Velthorn replied, “So I’ll give him what he wants. I’ll bury Haven, and hopefully the Elder One with it.”

Obviously, this didn’t sit well with any of them. Josephine had the slightest tremble in her lip. Leliana wouldn’t meet his eyes. Cassandra looked like she wanted to hit something. Cullen simply looked uncomfortable.

“I’ll go with him,” Volyn offered, “If worst comes to worst, I can give us a way out.”

“Yes,” Cullen said, “You’ll…You’ll find a way.”

“Just make sure you get them out. As many as you can,” Velthorn told them.

“Herald,” Roderick said, his voice breathy, “If you were meant for this…if all of this truly is by Divine will…I pray for you.”

Velthorn left the safety of the Chantry and fought his way to the one remaining trebuchet. He used every spell he knew to carve a path through the Templars before they could use their own abilities on him. Volyn followed, killing anyone who was left behind.

The trebuchet was guarded when Velthorn reached it, but he quickly took out the two Templars and started to load the machine.

Just as he was about to start pulling the rope taunt, he heard something coming his way. Something large enough that he could hear its footsteps. At first, he was terrified it was the dragon. What he actually saw wasn’t much better.

A mutated Templar came stomping around the corner, his legs nothing but huge spikes of lyrium. Magical discharge crackled all around the spines protruding from the Templar’s body, which had become nothing but a crystal. One of his arms was still human sized and seemed grotesquely withered in comparison to the rest of him.

It gave a distorted cry and then the hulking mass was bearing down on him. He startled and fell, then backed against the beam of the trebuchet. His heart was pounding in his ears. His own mind was screaming at him to move, but he found himself frozen, staring at that awful, twisted face. That a person could become _that_ …

“Fus Ro Dah!”

It was thunderous. A shock wave hurled through the air and hit the corrupted Templar, sending him shooting backward and into the rock behind him.

Volyn stepped forward, strange black sword in hand and still dripping with blood.

“Are you all right?” he asked, helping the elf to his feet.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Velthorn replied, “What was that?”

“A Shout,” the vampire said.

The Templar groaned, dislodging himself from the stone. He teetered, heavy body off balance, then righted himself. His sights were set on the two small figures before him.

Volyn charged the creature, sword at the ready. At about five feet, he changed direction, confusing the hulking mass and causing him to turn. Velthorn sent a barrage of icy magic right into the Templar’s face.

It bellowed in rage and made a sharp turn back toward Velthorn, but now it couldn’t see. It knocked itself off balance again and fell, giving Volyn an opportunity.

The vampire leapt, getting a good ten feet, and brought his sword down on the creature’s chest. The blade stuck fast in the red lyrium growing from the Templar’s body.

Volyn had to leave his sword behind to avoid getting swashed by a giant arm. Weapons weren’t working on this thing, so it was time to try something else.

Velthorn cast a bolt of frost at the downed creature, coating the crystalline armor in a sheet of ice. At the same time, Volyn began to drain the Templar’s life-force. The thing that used to be a man could do nothing to stop the attacks.

“Get that thing ready!” Volyn shouted to the mage.

Without answering, Velthorn made a break for the trebuchet. It was loaded, it just needed to be correctly aimed. The elf started to crank the lever, targeting the mountain directly behind Haven.

When it was done, and the Templar monstrosity was dead, the two stood together, watching.

“And now we hope this works,” Velthorn said.

Volyn nodded grimly.

They weren’t kept waiting long. A screech sounded from above.

“Dragon,” Velthorn said.

“Sounds great,” Volyn replied sarcastically, eyes scanning the heavens.

Volyn spotted it as it descended on them. He could just barely see it against the night sky, and it was coming on fast.

“Take cover!” the vampire warned, giving the elf a shove back toward the trebuchet.

As the dragon dropped from the sky, it opened its mouth and spewed a breath full of red fire that crackled with equally crimson lightning.

Both elves dove out of the way, but the blast knocked them off their feet. Volyn was thrown against the cliff, hitting with the full force of his body and falling to the ground, unconscious. Velthorn was thrown ten feet the other way and rolled over the frosty dirt. Bruised and dizzy, the Dalish struggled to get to his feet.

Someone was walking toward him, someone extraordinarily tall and thin. Behind him, the dragon had landed and bound up like an enormous dog. There was nowhere he could go now. He was trapped.

The _thing_ that walked past the flames, the only real source of light, wasn’t like anything Velthorn had ever seen. He, if that creature could be called that, was a twisted thing of metal, skin, and crystal. As he came closer, Velthorn realized it was red lyrium glistening inside his chest and sprouting from his face.

The creature came to a stop some ten feet from him, a baleful glare on the remnants of his face.

“Pretender,” he said, “You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more.”

“Who are you?” Velthorn asked, “What is all of this for?!”

The young elf gestured to the destruction around him, the destroyed buildings and piled corpses.

He smiled, and it made Velthorn’s face pale to see it. “Know me. Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One, the will that is Corypheus.”

He raised his left hand, which Velthorn hadn’t noticed before. He held some kind of orb covered in strange etchings. The orb began to glow, the grooves turning red.

“I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins now.” As he said it, Velthorn’s marked hand began to glow brightly, showing through his glove. “It is your fault, Herald. You interrupted a ritual years in the planning and instead of dying, you stole its purpose. I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as touched, what you flail at Rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens.”

The orb was sparking now, same as the elf’s hand. The pain was growing too. He grasped his left wrist with his right hand, trying desperately to control the uncontrollable.

“And you use the Anchor to undo my work. The gall.” Corypheus sneered.

Through clenched teeth, Velthorn spat, “Why did you create the Breach? What is all of this about?”

To Velthorn’s horror, the Elder One came closer with long, quick strides. He grabbed the elf up by his marked arm and hoisted him up, leaving him dangling several feet above the ground. Velthorn had never felt so small in his life.

“I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the old gods of the Empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused. No more. I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and _it was empty_.”

With those words, he hurled Velthorn from him, sending him through the air and into one of the beams of the trebuchet. The elf fell to the ground with a grunt. He was dizzy and there was blood in his eyes.

“The Anchor is permanent. You have spoilt it with your stumbling. So be it.” The Elder One began to walk toward him, the dragon following on his heels. “I will begin again. Find another way to give this world the nation, and _god_ , it requires. And you. I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You must die.”

Velthorn was on his feet, but he knew he had a very limited amount of time. He hoped the others were safety away. He hoped he’d bought them enough time.

“You are a fool,” hissed a voice. Corypheus turned to look at the eyes glowing in the darkness.

With the attention diverted, Velthorn kicked the lever on the trebuchet, sending a massive rock sailing overhead.

“Strun Bah Qo!”

Velthorn didn’t know what the words meant, but the sky suddenly went very dark and lightning began to lance through the air. Rain followed, icy and stinging. Within a few heartbeats, there was a massive storm to accompany the oncoming avalanche.

He was almost to the hidden tunnels when he felt something hit him from behind, launching him forward through the wooden planks blocking the entrance and into the darkness.


	12. The Blood of Heroes

The first thing Velthorn became aware of was the deep ache in his side and head. Then there was the intense cold, laying over him like a lead blanket. It burned his throat, nose, and lungs as he inhaled. It was also very, very dark.

He pushed himself up off the stones and broken planks of wood. His side protested, sending several bolts of pain through him. Gasping, he got to his feet. He groaned again as the Mark sparked for several seconds before going silent.

Feeling his way in the dark, his fingers met stone. A wall, in fact. And here, a torch. With the slightest effort, Velthorn lit it.

Lying a few feet from him was Volyn. The vampire was on his front, cheek pressed into the ground and arms awkwardly under him. He was breathing softly, which relieved Velthorn, because one of those broken pieces of wood had speared into the vampire’s side.

Velthorn hobbled to the vampire, noting the pain in his left leg. He also knew he must have broken a rib or two in the fall. Every movement, including breathing, hurt.

“Volyn,” the elf said, kneeling by his fallen companion. He touched the vampire’s shoulder. “Volyn.”

The dark elf stirred, eyes blinking open. Almost immediately, he grimaced. He looked back at himself and saw the wood protruding from his side.

“Damn it,” the vampire hissed.

“Let me help,” Velthorn offered.

“Do it quick, yeah?” Volyn laughing breathlessly.

The piece of wood jutting out was about a foot long. Carefully, Velthorn grasped it, though it still had Volyn biting back a whimper. The vampire clenched his teeth and rested his forehead on the ground.

“On three,” Velthorn said. “One. Two.” And he torn the thing out, making Volyn snarl like an animal. “Three.”

Once more, Volyn chuckled humorlessly. “Thank you.”

“The wound is healing.”

It was. The flesh was pulling together, but then it stopped. Although it was no longer bleeding and it was no longer a gaping wound in the vampire’s side, it was not fully healed.

“I need to eat,” Volyn confessed, “But we’ll worry about that later. This is good enough.”

The vampire stood, then helped Velthorn to his feet.

“We should find an exit to these tunnels.”

“Yes,” Volyn agreed, “Although, I can hear the wind outside. It’s quite intense. And I believe it’s nighttime.”

“If there’s a blizzard out there, we’ll never find the others,” Velthorn said.

“Let’s focus on finding a way out first,” the dark elf said.

Velthorn was almost too exhausted to nod and Volyn saw this. The vampire wrapped one arm around the other elf’s waist and pulled his arm around his neck. Velthorn didn’t protest. They started walking.

The tunnels extended quite a ways, but were straightforward when it came to direction. There were only two ways to go, really. Forward or back. Most of the floor was covered in dirt and rubble from where the stones overhead had fallen away. The air was cold, even here.

With their bodies pressed together, Volyn could feel the elf shivering. As a Volkihar vampire, the cold was nothing for him, but for this skinny little thing?

Eventually, they found the end. The wind howled by, carrying snow and icy cold into the entrance. Velthorn shivered hard as they went close.

Looking intensely at the snow, Volyn said, “I could clear this weather up, but I’m not sure I should. Using a Shout so soon after that avalanche might cause another,” Volyn said.

“Don’t risk it,” Velthorn replied, shaking his head, “We can find the others in the morning.”

Volyn nodded. “I’m going to sit you over there, then look for something for a proper fire.”

There were two other tunnels here, but both had been blocked by cave-ins. Still, it was a little more out of the way of the wind.

The vampire set Velthorn down against the wall. The elf held the torch close to him, trying to get as much warmth from it as possible. His fingers and ears were numb.

Volyn ventured out into the blizzard. He couldn’t see much, but there was _something_ in the distance. The snow was knee deep and hard to trek through, but at least he knew he wouldn’t get frostbite.

When he’d first started adventuring across Skyrim, he’d been like Velthorn. Mortal and constantly cold. Most nights he’d taken shelter in caves and prayed the wildlife wouldn’t eat him as he slept.  It had been a blessing when he’d gotten infected.

Finally, he reached the shape in the distance. There was an abandoned wagon here, covered in snow, but perfect. He wheeled it back, no small feat in this weather, and smashed it to pieces inside the tunnels.

While he’d been gone, Velthorn had created a ring of stones for a firepit. He placed the broken wood in the ring and the Dalish elf used the torch to light it. The wood was wet, but eventually caught.

Practically groaning in relief, Velthorn went as close to the fire as he could, thrusting his hands over the flames. He was wearing gloves, but the leather was a poor insulator. He stripped them off and tossed them to the ground.

“Thank you,” the elf said.

“You’re welcome,” Volyn replied dismissively.

“I mean it. You saved my life back there,” Velthorn said.

“Someone had to do it. You were prepared to die for everyone,” the vampire told him, shrugging.

Velthorn looked at his marked hand. The Anchor, as Corypheus called it.

When he’d first woken to find this thing on his hand, he wasn’t sure what to make of it. Then to find it could close Rifts? His confusion and suspicion only grew. It had to be magical, he knew. Those crackles of energy it often gave off were magical discharge.

But what kind of magic? It wasn’t like anything he’d felt before. It felt older. Almost like the magic his Keeper used when Arianni had become sick with the Blight, but even older than that.

So what did that make the orb Corypheus was carrying? And why did _his_ magic feel so different from the magic of the Anchor or the Rifts, or even of the Breach itself? The magic Corypheus had been using felt…wrong. Corrupted. Like red lyrium.

So what did that make red lyrium, then?

Too many questions and very little answers. He needed to get this information to the others. He needed to speak with Solas or Dorian or even Vivienne. Perhaps they might have some insight or theories.

“You know, you really are the hero they deserve,” the vampire mused.

Now drawn out of his thoughts, Velthorn gave a pained laugh, and grimaced as his ribs ached. “No I’m not. Any one of those Templars could snap me in half and then I’d just be a dead knife-ear to them.”

“It isn’t about your fighting prowess. You have a hero’s heart. Hero’s blood. You genuinely care for the people. That was something I could never really do. I can pretend. But I don’t care for the masses.”

“Why not?” Velthorn asked curiously.

“I don’t know. There are a few individuals I’ve known that have earned my respect and devotion, but for the most part, I just don’t care. People pass in and out of my life. Some, I miss. But most, I look back on and don’t even wonder what became of them. I do not mourn the dead and I do not go out of my way looking for friends.”

“That sounds lonely,” Velthorn said.

Volyn shrugged. “I don’t get lonely. I have a small family of…like-minded individuals.”

“A family? I have a feeling you aren’t talking about a wife and children,” the elf said with an amused smile.

The vampire laughed. “Definitely not. No, I’m an assassin by trade.” He monitored Velthorn’s reaction.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” the Dalish said, “You are very efficient at killing things.”

“Everyone has their talents. Besides, you’ve become quite good at it yourself.”

“I suppose I have, haven’t I?”

Volyn could see the exhaustion setting in now that the adrenaline had completely worn off. Velthorn looked as if he could fall asleep sitting up.

“I believe I have the strength to heal some of your wounds. Then you should rest,” he told the elf.

“What about you?” Velthorn asked.

“I’ll be fine. I need to eat, but I’ll be fine. Vampires are resilient.”

“If you’re sure…”

A warm, golden glow surrounded his grey hands and he angled his fingers toward Velthorn. Instantly, the Dalish elf felt better. The magic was different, obviously from another world, but it was recognizable as life magic. It was warm and pleasant and made him feel even drowsier as the pain eased.

It was obviously a struggle for Volyn to keep the magic flowing. He was concentrating, his brows knit. His hands, normally so steady, were shaking. The intensity of his expression was worrisome.

After about fifteen seconds, the vampire was forced to stop. His chest heaved and his breathing came raggedly. A hand stopped Velthorn from moving to help.

“Are you all right?” the elf asked.

Volyn answered in a gruff voice, “Just…hungry.” He took a moment to compose himself. “Now _sleep_ , before I make you.”

“Threatening me now?” Velthorn said, readjusting himself to lie back against the tunnel wall. “You won’t eat me while I sleep, will you?”

Volyn chuckled.

Before long, Velthorn had nodded off. Even with the healing, bruises were appearing on his face. Both of them were going to be hurting in the morning.

The vampire settled himself in for a long night, leaning against the tunnel wall and crossing his arms over his chest. He kept his senses open for anything coming their way and tried his best to ignore the gnawing, insistent hunger.

\-----

The storm had died down considerably by the time daylight began to flood the tunnels. Velthorn groggily opened his eyes, immediately flinching at the pain all over his body.

Volyn’s eyes were closed, but he was awake, if only just barely. True to his word, the fire was still burning, though it had been allowed to dim.

“Is it still storming?” the elf asked.

“Not like it was. There’s enough visibility to search,” the vampire answered. Slowly, the dark elf rose to his feet.

“You should have woken me so you could rest.” Velthorn winced as he straightened himself. Volyn had done what he could, but there was still extensive bruising. His whole body ached.

“As if I could sleep with that thing’s face in my mind,” Volyn replied.

“True enough.” Velthorn’s stomach groaned. The elf realized he hadn’t eaten anything since the morning before. There simply hadn’t been time.

“I feel the same,” Volyn said with his usual, casual half-smile.

Despite the casual nature, Velthorn could see it on his face. If it could be described as anything, it would be as pure need.

“You know, I wouldn’t be opposed to…giving. You saved my life, and healed my wounds despite your own.”

He knew it was something akin to blood magic, but that didn’t bother him like it did most. No magic was inherently evil, and so long as no one was really harmed, he didn’t see the problem.

Orange eyes settled on him. “You’re sure?” Apparently, he wasn’t in the mood to argue.

Velthorn nodded. “Is the wrist all right?”

Now Volyn nodded, and he crossed the space between the two. The dark elf settled himself on his knees as Velthorn rolled up the sleeve of his right arm. Volyn carefully took hold of it, not sure he could control his own strength.

Velthorn was surprised at how little it hurt when Volyn bit him. There was a pinch, and the uncomfortable feeling of blood being drawn. But the pain was non-existent and now there was a strange, warm sensation. All discomfort was gone.

Velthorn was equal parts disgusted and fascinated. The vampire’s lips were cool and dry, and gentle, like his grip. The elf knew Volyn could crush his bones into powder, yet he held his arm as if it were made of porcelain. Maybe that was why he did it.

He wasn’t sure how long the vampire held on; it couldn’t have been more than half a minute. When he took his mouth away, Velthorn was surprised at the lack of blood or a wound. Clearly there’d been one; he’d seen those fangs come down on him.

Volyn sat back, looking contented. It took him a moment to focus on Velthorn’s face.

“Thank you.”

The elf nodded. “Now, whenever you’re ready, we should go.”

\-----

It was still freezing when they went out into the snow. By this point, it was knee deep and extremely difficult to wade through. Most of it wasn’t solid and still quite powdery. It found its way into their clothing and the cold bit at Velthorn’s skin.

“There was a cart out here last night, but I didn’t see any fresh tracks at that point. Of course, the blizzard would have covered them up within moments if there had been any,” Volyn said.

“Haven should be that way,” Velthorn reasoned, pointing behind them, “So we should head up the mountain and away. There’s a pass or something over there. We should head for that. It would’ve served as cover in that storm.”

Easier said than done. The deep snow slowed their progress considerably and after just twenty minutes, Velthorn was exhausted and nearly frozen. He summoned a flame to his hands, if only to warm them for a few moments.

An hour found them in a small, dense copse of pines. They looked like miniature mountains under all that snow. The important part in them was that there were firepits here, old enough to have been covered, but recent.

“We’re headed in the right direction,” Velthorn said.

“Seems so. Let’s keep going.”

Despite feeling as though his feet had turned to ice, the elf nodded in agreement.

\-----

Hunger and fatigue was getting to him. More than once, Volyn had had to drag him out of a pile of snow he couldn’t manage on his own. All he wanted to do was close his eyes and sleep, but he knew he needed to keep going.

If he stopped now, he would never get back up again.

“Not much longer. If we can’t see them from that pass, we’ll take a rest,” Volyn said.

Velthorn didn’t have the energy to respond.

The mountains engulfed them, casting a shadow over everything. Velthorn looked up and all he could see was the rocky faces of the mountains. Volyn kept him moving, pulling him forward.

They came over the ridge and Velthorn could have wept. He fell to his knees, relief flooding him. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

There they were; his friends and allies, alive and well. It was more than he had hoped for.


	13. The Dawn Will Come

The two were spotted by Leliana’s scouts, who drew the attention of the rest of the encampment. Soldiers, scouts, and commoners alike gasped and cheered at the sight of the Herald, who was wearily leaning on Volyn as they descended the hill.

Cullen and Cassandra sprinted to meet them, looks of concern and wonder on their faces.

There had been a lot of talking after the initial shock had worn off. Both Velthorn and Volyn were clearly exhausted, but the elf wanted to make sure the others knew what they were facing.

He spoke of Corypheus and what he claimed to be, speaking in a fast, hushed voice as his companions listened. Volyn added what he could, and when they were finished with their tale, none of them really knew what to say.

Then Leliana has rushed Velthorn off to be inspected by a healer. The mage, named Adrea, looked over him and healed the few minor injuries remaining, but concluded that he was otherwise fine. He was given soup and a cot.

It didn’t take him long to fall asleep, despite the fact that the four advisers had become embroiled in a heated discussion that was getting louder all the time.

As for Volyn, he was still hungry, so he scouted a meal and left the victim to sleep it off. Then he, too, found a cot and finally got some sleep.

\-----

Solas and Velthorn stood beside the Veilfire flame, away from prying eyes and ears. Just minutes ago, the Inquisition had, literally, been singing Velthorn’s praise. The mood in camp had lightened considerably.

Solas was smiling at him. “The humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting. Her faith is hard-won, Lethallin, worthy of pride.”

Velthorn shifted his feet in the snow. “I’m only doing what I think is right. What I hope anyone would do in my situation.”

“Yes,” Solas agreed, nodding, “That is true. And noble. But does not diminish the problem at hand. The orb you described, the one Corypheus wields? It is ours.”

“Ours? It’s…elven? …All right, what is it? How do you know of it?”

 

Solas took a moment to script his next words. “Such things were foci, said to hannel power from our gods. Some were dedicated to specific members of our pantheon. All that remain are references of these objects in ruins, and faint visions of memory in the Fade. Echoes of a dead empire.

“From what you witnessed, I believe Corypheus used the orb to open the Breach and that unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave.”

Solas spoke more urgently for this next part. “We must find out how he survived…And we must prepare for their reaction when they learn the orb is of our people.”

Velthorn stared into the oddly colored fire, thinking. A million things ran through his mind.

“Where would he even get such an object, if all that’s left are memories? In all the stories I’ve heard growing up, and there were an ample amount, believe me, I’ve never heard of such an object _actually_ existing to this day.”

Like the younger elf before him, Solas was quiet for several long seconds. “That is something I cannot answer. But however Corypheus came to it, the orb _is_ elven, and with it, he threatens the heart of human faith.”

Velthorn sighed, looking out to the darkened mountains. The wind was picking up again and it was getting colder. The moon was hidden behind clouds, leaving the world below to a dark night.

“If we die out in this wilderness, none of this will matter.” He looked at Solas with a small smile. “Besides, they’ll find a way to blame elves somehow.”

“I suspect you are correct. It is unfortunate, but we must be above suspicion to be seen as valued allies. Faith in you is shaping this moment, but it needs room to grow.”

“You have something in mind?” Velthorn asked curiously.

Solas gave him another of those tiny, secretive smiles.

And from where he sat listening to the two, Volyn didn’t trust it at all.

\-----

“Scout to the north” had been Solas’s advice, and so they went north. The first day was difficult. They needed to move a lot of people in unison and the hardest part was getting everything organized. Though people were motivated after the night before, the storm had been vicious, covering everything in a blanket of white.

“Does anyone know where we’re actually going?” Dorian asked that day.

“North,” Velthorn answered.

“Yes, but _why_?” the human insisted.

Velthorn sighed. “It’s…hard to explain. A feeling. We need to head north.”

Dorian didn’t seem convinced, but asked no more questions after that.

Hope kept the people moving, but the cold was quickly sapping them of their energy. But when the weak or wounded fell behind, others were there to help them move forward. The Herald led the way.

\-----

“Your mark is changed. You said Corypheus tried to remove it. It seems that process altered it,” Solas said, letting Velthorn had his hand back.

Velthorn nodded in agreement. “It feels different too. Less wild.”

“Its configuration is more stable than before. The Elder One has a better understanding of the magic he wields than he did at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

“That isn’t comforting,” the Dalish muttered. He looked out on the landscape and took another bite of his dinner. It had gone cold.

After several moments of silence, Solas asked, “Have you tried _opening_ a Rift?”

“ _Opening one_? Why would I—no, I haven’t. Why?” Velthorn answered. He understood the educational benefits, but would that be worth the risk? Did they have enough Rifts to worry about without him opening new ones?

“I believe you might be able to,” Solas mused, “Especially now that the mark is better than it was the first time. You may have full control over Rifts, summoning them and closing them at will.”

“That would be…something, I guess.” The elf looked down at his hand. The cracks under his skin glowed brightly.

“Speaking of the Rifts,” Solas said, “I have been making some headway in my studies. I have developed something new, if you’d like to learn.”

“Something new?” Velthorn asked curiously.

“Rift magic, I’ve called it. Not a particularly creative name, but apt.” Solas gave him a wolfish smile. “It is relatively minor in comparison to what your mark can do, but anyone can learn it.”

Velthorn didn’t really have to think it over. “When do we start?”

\-----

After that, the days were spent traveling and the nights were spent training. Velthorn was surprised by the extensive amount of information Solas had gathered from studying the Rifts. Well, not surprised that Solas was able to collect it, just that there was that much information to gather in the first place.

Velthorn respected the older mage, but trusted him less with each passing day. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something, and that Solas knew more than he was saying.

Sera had been telling him that since she’d joined. Velthorn was still disappointed she was right.

On day three, they found a Rift. By now, Velthorn had come to recognize what a Rift felt like from afar, so they weren’t surprised by it. Many of the common folk cheered as they cut down the demons and slammed the Rift shut. They pushed themselves a little harder after that, energy renewed.

A week passed, and it was a strain on everyone. But as he crested the peak of a mountain on the last day, Velthorn saw it and knew the trip had been worth it.

Nestled in the high peaks of the mountains was an enormous castle. Though he could see several holes in the roof and a few places in the outer wall were crumbling, Velthorn was in awe. He’d never seen anything like it in his life. He imagined that he probably wouldn’t see anything like it ever again.


	14. The Dawn Breaks

Skyhold was massive and needed a lot of work. But then, so did the Inquisition. The first several days were spent organizing everyone, getting a working infirmary set up, and generally getting their bearings. Once everyone had at least temporary housing, the more difficult work began.

 

Scaffoldings were erected by the places where the masonry was coming apart. An entire bridge needed to be rebuilt, so the framework for that was begun. Hundreds of people began to clean the castle itself, sweeping, moving rubble, and getting it in a livable state.

 

Dozens more began work on the garden area, where they would be pulling weeds and planting helpful herbs.

 

Meanwhile, the Herald and his companions talked about what would come next. They knew Corypheus would eventually realize they had survived.

 

Cassandra spoke of this as she and Velthorn walked.

 

“He’s only after me because of this mark,” Velthorn told her.

 

“Can you be so sure?” Cassandra asked, “It was your decisions that led us here. Your determination that got us through the mountains. The Elder One views you as a rival because of your actions, not because of the mark.”

 

They were coming up the stairs now.

 

“We know this to be true. All of us,” she continued.

 

Leliana stood on the landing, a sword balanced on her hands. Velthorn looked at Cassandra, then to Leliana, realization dawning on his face.

 

“The Inquisition requires a leader. The one who has _already_ been leading it.”

 

Velthorn looked out and saw dozens of faces staring up at him. Some he recognized, others were strangers. Yet they were all looking to him, waiting to see his response. He couldn’t quite understand their faith in him, but he was willing to give this a good go.

 

He looked back at Cassandra, who was smiling at his surprise. “This is…unanimous? Me? An elf savage?”

 

Cassandra chuckled. “To them, being an elf only shows how far you have risen. For us, we know you better. Remember, these people are alive because of you. You were willing to give everything for them, and now they do the same.”

 

Velthorn’s gaze went to Leliana, who gave an encouraging nod of her head. With a steadying breath, he took the hilt of the sword and picked it up.

 

“I do this because it needs to be done,” Velthorn clarified to them both.

 

Cassandra nodded, then moved past him to address the people below. “Have our people been told?”

 

From the ground, Josephine called back, “They have!”

 

“Commander, will they follow?”

 

Cullen didn’t answer, instead looking to the people and asking the same question. And as he asked each subsequent question, the uproarious cries only grew louder.

 

“Will you follow? Will you fight? Will we triumph?”

 

They could hardly hear the Commander now.

 

“Your leader! Your Herald! Your Inquisitor!”

 

As he finished, Velthorn raised the sword into the air, bringing the thunderous noise to a peak. Even Josephine was caught up in the moment, startling even herself with an impassioned cheer.

 

Looking down on the Inquisition, Velthorn mentally promised that he would do his best to make them proud.

 

* * *

 

“You know, I didn’t get this sort of reception when I saved the world,” Volyn later told Velthorn as they moved crates of supplies.

 

“No?”

 

“Nope. Really, the only people who knew the world was going to end were my teachers. No titles or statues for me.”

 

“Would you have like the fame, though?” Velthorn asked, almost sure he already knew the answer.

 

Volyn let out a barking laugh. “Absolutely not! I like my anonymity.”

 

“Do the glowing eyes help with that?”

 

“All right, you’ve got me there. But I’m not the only vampire wandering Skyrim. Just the only one who saved the world.”

 

“Which reminds me, you seem oddly healthy for someone banned from eating the Inquisition,” the elf said.

 

They sat the crates down on a sturdy oak table, which would serve as the main headquarters for the Inquisition researchers. A few of these researchers thanked them and began to unload the books. The library was coming along nicely now.

 

When they were out of earshot, Volyn said, “Surely you knew that was a rule I couldn’t follow.”

 

“I know. And so long as no one is hurt, I don’t mind. But others may grow suspicious,” Velthorn warned.

 

Others such as Dorian, who had moved a plush chair up into one of the library alcoves and claimed the little room as his own. There were several piles of books on the ground, and a bottle of wine on the table beside the chair.

 

“Everything going well?” Velthorn asked the mage, who was bent over a book.

 

Dorian looked up. “As well as everything can go when one has had a mountain dropped on them.”

 

“True enough,” Velthorn said.

 

Before he could say anything else, Dorian continued with, “You know, it’s rather brilliant. One moment you’re trying to restore order in a world gone mad, and that should be enough for anyone to handle, yes?

 

“Then, out of nowhere, an Archdemon appears and kicks you in the head. ‘ _What_? You thought this would be _easy_?’ ‘No. I was just hoping you wouldn’t crush our village like an anthill.’ ‘Sorry about that! Archdemons like to crush, you know. Can’t be helped.’” Dorian glanced over. “Am I speaking too quickly for you?”

 

“Don’t worry about me. I can keep up,” Velthorn assured with a small smile.

 

“Yes, I noticed that,” Dorian said. “What about you?”

 

“Me? I think you’re starting to sound like Sera,” Volyn told him. He could, of course, keep up, but where was the fun in answering plainly?

 

“Maker, the madness is contagious,” the mage said, feigning despair. He sighed. “I always assumed the Elder One was a Venatori magister, but this is…this is something else completely.” He seemed very upset suddenly. “In Tevinter, they say the Chantry’s tales of Magisters starting the Blight are just that: tales. But here we are. One of those very magisters. A darkspawn.”

 

“We know what Corypheus _claims_ to be,” Velthorn insisted.

 

“But if he _is_ one of the magisters who entered the Black City _and_ he’s darkspawn…what other explanation is there?”

 

“Anything is possible,” Volyn put in, “I traveled across worlds to get here, after all.”

 

“True,” Dorian said, but that dejected look was still on his face, “I knew what I was taught couldn’t be the whole truth, but I assumed there had to be a kernel of it. Somewhere. But no. It was us all along. _We destroyed the world_.”

 

“Last I checked, the Blights hadn’t actually destroyed the world,” Velthorn pointed out.

 

“Not for lack of trying…”

 

* * *

 

 

It had been nearly half a month and things were progressing well. The outer walls had been repaired and the broken bridge had been replaced. Most people were out of their tents and had proper quarters. Everything was coming along perfectly, with no sign of The Elder One.

 

On his way to see Blackwall, who had taken up residence in the stables of all places, Velthorn heard an argument going on and went to investigate.

 

“This thing is not a stray puppy you can make into a pet. It has no business being here,” Vivienne was saying.

 

“You would say the same of an apostate,” Solas countered.

 

“Or a Tevinter mage,” Dorian put in.

 

Vivienne pursed her lips in annoyance. “It is a demon and should be destroyed.”

 

“He is a spirit,” Solas corrected.

 

“I agree,” Dorian added, “Well, I know he’s not a demon, at least.”

 

Cassandra, standing to the side with her arms crossed over her chest, saw him approach and greeted him.

 

“Inquisitor. I had wondered if Cole was perhaps a mage, given his unusual abilities. I seem to have sparked an argument.”

 

Solas explained, “He can cause people to forget him, or fail entirely to notice him. These are not the abilities of a mage. It appears that Cole is a spirit.”

 

“It is a demon, and you are a fool if you think otherwise,” Vivienne stated bluntly.

 

Forcing himself not to sigh, Solas replied, “If you prefer. Although, the truth is somewhat more complex.”

 

Velthorn said, “Whatever he is, Cole came to warn us at Haven. He’s been helping the healers. He’s saved a lot of lives.”

 

“And what will its help cost? How many lives will this demon later claim?” Vivienne argued.

 

“His nature is not so easily defined,” Solas said.

 

“Speak plainly Solas. What are we dealing with?” Cassandra asked.

 

“Demons normally enter this world by possessing something. In their true form, they look bizarre. Monstrous.”

 

Cassandra seemed as though she was going to ask another question, so Dorian added, “We’ve already confirmed this _isn’t_ possession. Not to mention, if his body were a corpse, it would be decaying. It isn’t.”

 

Solas continued, “From what I can tell, Cole has lived here, in this world, for months, perhaps even years. Somehow, he manifested in human form without the need for possession. He is unique and more than that, he wishes to help. I suggest you allow him to do so.”

 

“That would be a mistake, but clearly you all are willing to risk a demon in our ranks.” Even in just walking away, she some managed to look irritated.

 

“I’ll talk to him,” Velthorn said, glancing around. He spotted the spirit over by the infirmary, which wasn’t an unusual place to find him. The three others bade him good-bye.

 

Velthorn went to stand beside Cole, watching him observe the sick and hurt. His expression was tragic to Velthorn, this constant look of contemplation and pain on his features. Such a look seemed strange on the young man’s face.

 

“Cole?” Velthorn asked, trying to prompt him to say something.

 

Blue eyes looked at him. “Choking fear. Can’t think from the medicine but cuts wrack me with every heartbeat.” He paused a moment, eyes looking far away. “Hot white pain. Everything burns. I can’t, I can’t…I’m going to…I’m dying, I’m—dead.”

 

Instantly, Velthorn understood. “Does it hurt you? To feel their suffering?”

 

“Yes,” Cole said, “But it helps.”

 

His attention turned to one of the soldiers lying prone on a bedroll. Her face was coated in a sheen of sweat and her eyes were cloudy with pain.

 

“Cracked brown pain. Dry. Scraping. Thirsty.”

 

Cole brought the water to her, gently tipping it into her mouth and making sure she didn’t choke on it. The thanks he got was a whisper and then he withdrew.

 

“She won’t remember me,” Cole told Velthorn.

 

“This is why you came to this world, isn’t it? To help people?”

 

“Yes,” he answered, “I used to think I was a ghost. I didn’t know. I made mistakes, but I made friends too. Then a Templar proved I wasn’t real. I lost my friends. I lost everything.” He was quiet and Velthorn waited for him to continue.

 

“I learned how to be more like what I am. It made me different, but stronger. I can feel more. I can help.”

 

“Yes, you can,” Velthorn replied, “So stay with us, because we want to same thing. We have a long road ahead, but I think we can do a lot of good along the way.”

 

“Yes, helping…I help the hurt, the helpless, there’s someone…”

 

And off he went on his endless pursuit. Velthorn left him to it.

 

* * *

 

“So, ah, can we talk for a moment?” Varric asked. He was standing beside the bench Velthorn had seated himself on, needing a quick break, and seemed almost…uncomfortable? It was very out of character for Varric to seem nervous about anything.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing’s wrong, per say,” the dwarf said, “I just…I think I know someone who can help with this whole ‘Elder One’ thing. But it would probably be for the best if you didn’t meet anywhere…public.”

 

“All right…” Velthorn replied, suddenly suspicious, though he couldn’t guess what Varric might be up to.

 

He and Varric were on friendly terms, playing Wicked Grace during periods of quiet and trading friendly banter. Velthorn trusted him with his life, which was good considering how often they fought together. Yet in all their months of traveling together and getting to know one another, Velthorn had never seen him act this way.

 

“Meet me over by the west tower on the battlements tonight, just after sundown.” He went to leave, but turned around for one last statement. “And, uh…don’t tell Cassandra.”


	15. On the Ramparts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to put up. I’ve been struggling with my anxiety the last several weeks. Constant panic attacks left me unmotivated and tired. It’s getting back under control now, and I’m going to get back to a regular update schedule.

Velthorn’s room was at the top of a tower, no expenses spared. When Josephine had first shown him the way and he’d seen the room that could’ve housed his entire clan, he had been overwhelmed. _This_ was for him? Just because his title was Inquisitor?

 

He thought he’d been lucky enough with the house in Haven. This room had to be at least twice its size.

 

With a sigh, Velthorn sat on the bed and thought of the conversation on the battlements.

 

On his way there, he hadn’t been sure what to expect. To see the Champion of Kirkwall leaned against the stones, looking over the mountains and passes, had been a surprise.

 

He was the just as Varric had described. His figure was tall and muscular, despite being a mage, and his raven black hair was a little longer than it had been for the stories. A few new scars drew lines across his face, interrupting the shadow of stubble.

 

Hawke’s most striking feature, however, were the strange eyes, which were more yellow than brown. Varric had described them in his books as golden, and that was just about the truth of it.

 

“Inquisitor,” Varric said, “Meet Hawke.”

 

The mage greeted the Inquisitor with a small smile. “Kieran Hawke, at your service.”

 

“Velthorn Lavellan.” They shook hands. “I’ll admit, this isn’t what I was expecting.”

 

“Out of curiosity, what _were_ you expecting?” Varric asked.

 

“Assassins? Demons? A dragon, perhaps?” Hawke suggested.

 

Velthorn shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen you nervous, Varric. Although, I doubt you’d have me assassinated.”

 

“At least someone around here doesn’t suspect me of shady dealings.”

 

Hawke gave his friend a crooked smile. “Despite actually being involved in shady dealings?”

 

“I didn’t say I wasn’t,” Varric said, putting his hands up, “Just that I’m relieved someone isn’t expecting it.”

 

They enjoyed another few seconds of casualness, then Hawke looked rather seriously at Velthorn. “Well…I suppose I’m here for a reason. Let’s discuss Corypheus.”

 

The three of them talked for another two hours, going over every detail of the mission which had lead them to Corypheus. They explained that the ancient magister had not only been dead, but all but completely destroyed. Hawke and his companions had made sure of that.

 

“And when I say dead, I mean _dead_ ,” Hawke explained, “As in, no heartbeat, no breathing, and the affected Wardens returned to normal. So however this happened, I can’t tell you. But I have a friend in the Wardens, who said something about corruption in the ranks. He might be able to tell us more.”

 

“If that’s where all the Wardens are, this is definitely not good news,” Velthorn mused, staring into the sunset. He was thinking. He was _always_ thinking, but this was different.

 

What if they couldn’t kill Corypheus? What if they couldn’t stop him?

 

“I didn’t say it would be,” Hawke replied, “But when Varric mentioned all this, added to the sudden appearance of all this red lyrium, I knew I had to come.”

 

“Do you travel alone?” the elf asked, curious about where his other companions might be. Varric rarely mentioned anything going on with them currently. Trying to protect them, no doubt.

 

Hawke shook his head. “Usually its…just Anders and me. I hate to leave him alone, but I’ve seen Corypheus control him before, and I didn’t want to risk it happening again.”

 

Velthorn nodded. “I appreciate you coming all this way. I hope your Warden friend can give us some solid answers on a few things.”

 

“Me too,” Hawke answered. His mouth was set in a grim line.

 

After the conversation was over, Varric and Hawke left together, leaving Velthorn to contemplate all that had been said.

 

Even now, as he lay in bed for the night, he couldn’t get the awful thought out of his head.

 

What if they _couldn’t_ succeed? Not by fault of their own, but because Corypheus simply could not be defeated, not forever. What if the world was simply doomed?

 

* * *

 

“You are looking particularly broody today,” a cheerful sounding Dorian said, approaching from Velthorn’s left.

 

The elf had chosen to sit in the garden after the meeting with the advisers. Cassandra had been…upset after hearing that Hawke was here and that Varric had known where he’d been the entire time. Things in the war council had been tense, making it nearly impossible for Velthorn to think about anything but making sure his friends were on good terms once more.

 

So now here he was, trying to get some peace of mind amongst the plants that reminded him of home.

 

Dorian sat down next to him on the bench.

 

“I saw you from the window. You looked to be too deep in thought than is healthy,” he said matter-of-factly.

 

“Ah,” Velthorn replied.

 

“Not much of a talker, are you?”

 

Velthorn shrugged. “Not usually. I’ve done considerably more than usual since joining the Inquisition.”

 

“I can imagine,” the human said, “And I can imagine you’ll do a lot more of it in the near future. What with being the first Inquisitor in centuries.”

 

Velthorn groaned. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

 

“If you didn’t worry about it, I’d be surprised. Most people would run in terror from the responsibilities you’ve taken on.”

 

“Thank you,” Velthorn said sarcastically, “That really inspires confidence.”

 

“All right, how about this: you’ve won nearly all of your battles so far. Your leadership has brought the Inquisition here. You do know you’re the reason they’re here, right?” Dorian looked at him quizzically.

 

“That’s what people keep saying.”

 

The elf was watching a few birds arguing in the trees, giving him a faraway look. His hair had grown since they’d started this adventure and Dorian wondered if he didn’t want to cut it or didn’t feel like he had time. Had anyone even concerned themselves with asking him how _he_ felt?

 

Before he could ask, Velthorn said, “Have you been to see Alexius yet?”

 

That wasn’t a question Dorian had been expecting. “Oh, um, not yet. He isn’t…the same man I knew. I did hear about the whole judgement thing, though. You have him working on research, yes? I think that will be good for him. He was always happiest doing research.”

 

“Good,” Velthorn said, “I didn’t really want to hurt him. I understand why he did it. Fear and grief make people do very strange things. Cassandra doesn’t understand why I didn’t have him made Tranquil. I don’t think she understands what that means to us.”

 

“No, most without magic don’t,” Dorian replied, “And I’m glad you didn’t do that to him. Back home, Tranquility is very, _very_ rarely ever used. I’d never seen a Tranquil until I came here. It’s rather unnerving, isn’t it?”

 

Velthorn nodded. He hated that anyone had to live like that, like a living zombie. They had thoughts, sure, but they weren’t really people anymore.

 

In all honesty, Velthorn had only met his first Tranquil a few months ago, when the Inquisition was still in its infancy. He’d tried to hide his shock and discomfort.

 

“You’re agonizing over something. Tell me what it is. I’ve seen you flitting about the castle, taking care of your companions’ every need. Let me return the favor,” Dorian said.

 

Velthorn’s fingers tightened on the material of his trousers. “I don’t really have the time. I should be getting prepared anyway. We have a dragon to hunt.”

 

Dorian grabbed his arm as the elf rose. “You shouldn’t go into battle distracted as you are.”

 

“It’s not a distraction. Please let me go,” Velthorn said, sounding almost hostile.

 

The mage did let go, and Velthorn walked away. Dorian let him go. Usually, watching the Inquisitor walk away was a treat, but watching him walk away upset was painful.

 

* * *

 

As Dorian returned to his nook, he found Volyn sitting on the floor, a small stack of books next to him and one in his hands. He scanned one page after another, reading entirely too quickly. Dorian was going to leave him to it, but Volyn stopped him.

 

“Do you have a moment?” the vampire asked.

 

“I suppose I could spare one.”

 

“It’s about Corypheus.”

 

“Ah. Nevermind, I think I’ll go throw myself from a window. Or clean the stables. With my tongue,” Dorian said.

 

Volyn laughed. “No, it’s about something he said while rambling on about making a new world. Something that may be of significance.”

 

“And not entirely mad?” Dorian leaned against the bookshelf next to him.

 

“Not entirely. Or maybe it is. From what I’ve read, the story goes that ancient Tevinters entered the Fade and the Maker punished them by creating the Blight, yes?”

 

“That’s one theory, yes. They don’t teach it quite like that at home, but I know what you mean. Go on.”

 

Those curious eyes were locked on Dorian’s face now. “Corypheus said, and I quote, ‘I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the old gods of the Empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers.’ So does that mean the Maker punished them before or after actually finding this Golden City?”

 

Dorian took a few moments to process. The words turned over in his mind as he thought about what those words meant.

 

“He also said, ‘Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty.’ Does that also mean this Maker had vacated the Golden City before their arrival?”

 

“You’re saying you think the story is wrong?” Dorian asked.

 

“Yes. If this isn’t just mad ramblings, that means the entire basis for your religious disagreement might have nothing to do with either the southern sect or the Tevinter sect of the Chantry. If the story has any merit at all, wouldn’t that mean someone _else_ got to the Golden City before the blamed Tevinter magisters?”

 

Dorian nodded, baffled. “Well, yes, but if the story simply isn’t true at all, it’s also possible the City was already corrupted on its own. Perhaps by breaching the Fade in the first place?”

 

“So, since you know this theology more than I do, mind helping me sort this all out?”

 

If it would help put his own mind at ease, Dorian was glad to do it. Ever since hearing about Corypheus and what he claimed to be, Dorian’s mind had been scrambling. _Our fault_ , his mind screamed, though of course he hadn’t been there. Perhaps this would help him.

 

Then he could work on seeing what was causing Velthorn’s moodiness.

 

He and Volyn scooped up several books and got to work.


	16. Fire and Fang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There isn’t a cooldown period for Volyn’s shouts, since that was implemented only as a game mechanic. Dragons breathe fire whenever they want, so Volyn will too. Also, I made up a few Shouts that’ll be appearing in later chapters.

“Uhh…this definitely looks like dragon territory,” Varric mused aloud, stepping over a charred piece of…something.

 

Velthorn nodded, looking around. Everything smelled of fire and ash. Most of the trees and brush remained intact, but open ground had been gouged by enormous claws and rocks had been blackened.

 

“Can’t wait,” Bull said enthusiastically, “This is gonna be _fun_.”

 

“I’m not sure ‘fun’ is the correct word,” Cassandra replied. Everything about her demeanor was ridged.

 

But of course, they _were_ on the lookout for a giant, flying, fire-breathing lizard.

 

“I’m just interested in what dragons are like in this world,” Volyn said, “I’ve read they’re like animals. They don’t speak.

 

“They don’t. They roar and spit fire and eat livestock. They are nothing more than an overgrown nuisance,” Cassandra told him.

 

“That makes me feel special,” Volyn said offhandedly. Varric chuckled.

 

Bull put in, “She’s right though. Dragons are…magnificent and powerful and—” Here he made a sound which none of them had a word for. The closest would be a grunt “ _But…_ it’s all unrestrained power. So people like us come along and balance things out.”

 

“I suppose that’s true enough. The dragons in my world are full of power, but they also think much like people do. When I found out I was Dragonborn, one of my mentors was a dragon named Paarthurnax,” Volyn said

 

“You _trained_ with a dragon?” Bull asked.

 

“Yes, mastering the Thu'um. Shouts come naturally to me once I know the word, but true mastery is different. I suppose you’ll be seeing a few Shouts in the coming battle.”

 

“Shouts are how dragons in your world breathe fire and other such elemental attacks, are they not?” Solas asked.

 

“Yes, that’s right, though they do other things as well. I summoned the storm at Haven to cover our tracks and distract Corypheus. There are many powerful things I can do with them,” Volyn confirmed.

 

“Strange that our world is so saturated in magic, yet our dragons don’t have the magical capabilities of their counterparts in your world,” Solas said.

 

Volyn shrugged. “I’ve seen many odd things in my lifetime. That is the least strange. Besides, my world has its share of magic as well, besides just the dragons. Oblivion, Daedra, the Eye of Magnus, the Soul Cairn. And that’s just some of the things I’ve seen. There are so many things I could tell you about, things people know and things people don’t know, but it would take days, _weeks_ , to explain.”

 

There was a distant screech as he finished that sentence and the entire team was put right back on the edge. It had been quiet for a while now, allowing them the confidence to talk.

 

“And we do not have that time, at present,” Solas said.

 

“What I wouldn’t give to train with a dragon,” Bull mused aloud.

 

Scanning the skies from under his hood, Volyn replied, “It wasn’t terribly exciting. We debated over magical theory, philosophy, and morality most of the time.”

 

“Yeah…but _dragon_ ,” the Qunari said.

 

After that, they tried not to speak and instead focus on the impending fight. There had been sightings of dragonlings in the area and they weren’t sure how many to expect.

 

The group found the first of them happily tearing into a dead deer, pulling off strips of skin and chunks of flesh. It heard them approaching, however, and raised its head. A bolt struck it in the neck, sticking fast in the still developing scales.

 

Bull went after it, bringing his axe around with a great cry. The horse-sized creature let out a rough screech and ran after him, only to collide with the axe. With a crunch, the blade made quick work of its neck and the dragonling dropped.

 

“We should bring the Inquisition’s people when we’re done here. Dragonlings, drakes, and dragons have crafting materials we could use,” Bull said.

 

“Plus, having an axe made from a dragon’s bones sounds pretty good, right?” Volyn asked with a smirk.

 

 “Oooh yeah,” Bull agreed.

 

More dragonlings stood in their way, but they were no match for the team. Though big, the beasts weren’t as skilled or experienced as their mother. Their fireballs went awry and their movements were awkward, giving the team a considerable edge against them.

 

They arrived at what they assumed was the nesting area. Bones and scorch marks littered the area, and a group of half a dozen dragonlings were play-fighting near the water’s edge. Volyn thought they looked like cats, hopping around each other the way they were.

 

It was obvious they’d roused the mother when a shriek resounded throughout the nest. She rose to her feet and looked down on them from the cliff, wings flaring out. The sun gleamed off the yellow and green scales, the almost hexagonal pattern on display. The membrane of her wings looked golden in the light.

 

She was certainly a sight to behold.

 

Then she leaped down from her perch, making the ground rumble beneath her. She hissed as she came closer to them, tail swishing.

 

The babies had noticed them now and were coming straight for them.

 

“Varric, Volyn,” Velthorn said, “Keep those dragonlings off of us.”

 

Arrows only really worked on dragonlings, since their scales weren’t quite the armor of their adult form. As the two began firing, the mages refreshed their barrier spells while Cassandra and Bull kept themselves planted for the coming attack.

 

The first blast of fire sent a thrill of terror through Velthorn, as the flames and heat engulfed them. But then he and Solas cast a blizzard in tandem and mitigated the heat. Any damage that might have been done by either attack was dampened by the enchanted armor they wore.

 

With a loud cry, Bull rushed the dragon, aiming to catch her in the face with his axe. She snarled at his approach and snapped, but he avoided the toothy maw and brought the axe around. At the last second, the dragon raised her head out of the way, but Bull had seen that coming. Instead of getting her face, the axe buried itself in a leg as thick as he was.

 

She screeched in fury, raising her leg and pulling the axe’s handle from Bull’s grasp. More quickly than any of them could anticipate, she turned and used her tail to send Bull flying back. He landed with a grunt, but seemed unharmed, as he got back to his feet and kept on.

 

Cassandra was already on the other side of her, lashing out with her sword at the giant creature’s other front leg.

 

All but two of the dragonlings was dead, but the remaining ones were too wary to come near and had hidden by some rocks. Volyn pulled his sword.

 

“Focus on the mother,” he called to Varric, “I’ll take care of these two.”

 

Varric didn’t reply with anything more than a nod as he fitted another bolt to Bianca. If he could just get that dragon in the eye, they might have a better chance.

 

Volyn advanced on the dragonlings, who made pitiful, terrified sounds. They scrambled over each other, trying to flee. Volyn broke into a run.

 

They weren’t fast and Volyn caught up to them in no time. With a single stroke, he decapitated one of them, twisted around, and did the same to the other. The heads and bodies dropped, blood gushing from both.

 

“Sorry, little ones,” Volyn said, leaving the bodies where they lay.

 

The others were a ways off, having followed the dragon farther to the other side of the lair. She was swatting, snapping, and breathing fire over his companions, though they didn’t seem to be suffering too terribly yet. But in this fight, he was allowed to use his Shouts, and he was more than willing to do so.

 

“Wuld Nah Kest!”

 

Volyn felt himself pulled forward and was suddenly standing beside Solas, who was startled by his sudden appearance. Neither acknowledged this, however, as Volyn went to join Bull and Cassandra at the forefront of the battle.

 

The warriors were slashing at the dragon’s already injured leg, giving Volyn a clear path. This dragon breathed fired, so now it was time to see how much resistance it had to the cold.

 

“Fo Krah Diin!”

 

The Shout took the form of an icy wave, shooting through the air and rolling over the dragon like mist.

 

She recoiled, shrieking and breathing a torrent of flames as ice crystals formed on her scales and froze the delicate skin of her wings’ membranes.

 

A paw smacked Volyn square in the chest as the dragon lashed out. He suddenly found himself on his back, unable to find his breath, fifteen feet away. Someone helped him to his feet as his vision momentarily darkened. His ribs ached.

 

“Are you all right?” Solas shouted over the dragon’s commotion.

 

The ground felt like it was moving, but Volyn nodded, dislodging himself from the elf. After a moment, the world became righted. As it did, Volyn brought forth the spell that would help mend his probably broken ribs. When the pain had subsided, he rejoined his companions.

 

The dragon had decided that enough was enough. She opened her wings wide and brought them down, causing a powerful gust of wind. Cassandra was knocked from her feet and even Bull struggled against the wind. With one last ball of fire, the dragon made her exit, galloping away from them before taking to the air.

 

As she did, Volyn wondered if Dragonrend would even work on her. Even if it didn’t, it was worth a shot. The Shout hit her and outlined her form in blue. At first, it seemed she would continue flying, but then it was clear the magic was weighing down her wings. She was going to come down.

 

“What _is_ that?” Bull asked.

 

“Dragonrend. Created to combat the dragons’ ability to fly,” Volyn quickly explained.

 

“She’s going to crash!” Cassandra shouted, “Move!”

 

The dragon was off balance, panic impairing her judgement. And unfortunately, she was coming right at them.

 

They moved to the sides, running to get as far from the expected impact site as possible. Even still, when the full weight of the creature came down on the earth, it nearly knocked them from their feet. Her wings just barely missed them as she skidded by.

 

She was stunned, nearly unconscious. She tried to get her feet under her, but looked unable to do so.

 

Volyn knew this was their moment to strike. He used the Whirlwind Sprint to catch up to her and came out of the Shout running. Sword in hand, he leaped up onto her back, which was a good eight or ten feet from the ground.

 

Volyn planted his feet as he positioned himself, the tip of the sword between the creature’s shoulder blades. With a sharp jab, he brought the sword down, which crunched into bone.

 

Once more, the dragon let out the most piercing call any of them had ever heard, but Bull was already there. He brought his axe down on the dragon’s neck, severing its spine.

 

Golden, reptilian eyes rolled back and the dragon went limp all over, dead.

 

* * *

 

 

Things were mostly quiet that night at camp. Their injuries had been patched up or healed and now they were just tired. Cassandra and Solas had already retired to their tents, while Bull raved about how exciting the fight had been to Varric.

 

Volyn’s eyes were trained out into the darkness, on the lookout for bandits that had been reported in the area.

 

“How did our dragon compare to some of the ones you’ve killed?” Velthorn asked. The elf was sitting wearily beside the fire, half listening to Bull and Varric.

 

“She wasn’t disappointing, that’s for sure,” the vampire replied. “I’m not sure it’s even worth comparing them, though. They are so vastly different.”

 

“But was it easier or harder, would you say?”

 

Volyn thought for a moment. “Easier, on the one hand. Many dragons back home use their wits to outsmart dragon-hunters. The one we fought today was sheer power, and thought it was intelligent for an animal, it still acted by instinct only.”

 

He wondered if this fight would rile up the dragon souls within him. A good fight always made them restless, but this was a fight against a dragon. A dragon from a different world, no less. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be getting much sleep.

 

“Either way, I’m glad you were there with us. And on our side,” Velthorn told him.

 

Volyn gave a little laugh and the younger elf bade him good night.


	17. Welcome to Crestwood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, sorry for the delay AND the sort of filler chapter. I’m a horrible person. Second, I’m going to start writing about some of Volyn’s antics in Skyrim, if anyone’s interested in that.

It was a cool, moist day and storm clouds were gathering on the eastern horizon. According to Hawke, the Warden was camping in a cave between the West Road and Crestwood village, and now they found themselves at that point.

 

Velthorn took a look around to gauge the area. Most of the land was flat up to the mountains and the lake was on their right.

 

“If this is correct, we should be here,” the elf said, checking the map, “And Crestwood is directly this way. We’re in the right area, so let’s start looking. We only have a few hours of daylight left.”

 

“Nothing to complain about,” Volyn said under his breath. Even overcast as it was, the light was hurting his eyes.

 

The main group left the horses with the scouts they’d been traveling with and said their good-byes. It wouldn’t due to have their horses tied up just outside the Warden’s hiding place, after all, and Crestwood wasn’t too far off anyway.

 

The Inquisitor’s party of nine headed out, making their way off the road and into the field, which had been left to grow wildly. The grass was browning as the autumn neared, but was still chest height for Volyn. It was more manageable for the humans of the group, but Varric had to follow closely behind Cassandra and Dorian.

 

“You know, this is probably the best trap I’ve ever seen,” Varric said, “In grass this tall, just about anything could be hiding out there. Plus, people could be lost for days.”

 

“Dwarves, at least,” Cassandra said.

 

“First you’d have to get them to stop being afraid of the sky,” Dorian added.

 

“Okay, joke all you want,” Varric said, “But this has potential.”

 

“I like it,” Sera said, “Nice and simple. Just fill it with bugs. Lots of nasty bugs.”

 

“Dung beetles?” Volyn suggested.

 

“Eh! Whasat?”

 

“Little beetles that roll up balls of dung and lay their eggs in it,” the vampire answered, “You might not have them here.”

 

“That’s disgusting. Why would they lay eggs in it?” Sera asked.

 

“Dunno. I’ll ask the next time I come across one,” Volyn said.

 

“Oh, sod off.”

 

They reached the end of the tall grass, which was a relief to just about everyone. Varric’s comment about anything hiding out there was completely accurate and a surprise attack was never good. The grass was much more moderate around this area, and it was surely thanks to the herd of druffalo Velthorn spotted to their left.

 

There was a mountain in front of them, perhaps a half-mile from where they stood. Velthorn figured that had to be a good place to start and began walking. The rest of them followed suit.

 

It took another hour to find the cave, and the only reason they saw it was because Hawke was already there and waiting for them.

 

“Glad you could make it,” he greeted them. “Stroud is in there and expecting us.”

 

“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll remain out here,” Volyn said.

 

“Why?” Solas asked bluntly.

 

“I doubt this Grey Warden will react warmly to me,” the dark elf explained, “and if I were to perhaps search for a place to camp or make sure there are no others approaching this place, you can have your conversation in peace.”

 

The party looked to Velthorn, who took a moment to think, then said, “Fine. But don’t go far.”

 

Volyn nodded. “Of course.”

 

Hawke looked at them inquisitively. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

 

“I won’t cause any trouble,” Volyn assured him, “and I’ll be back by sundown. I’m afraid I’m often more of a distraction when meeting new friends.”

 

Varric added, “Besides, it’s usually better to just let him do what he wants. He does it with or without permission.”

 

Velthorn internally sighed.

 

The mage answered, “If you say so. Are the rest of you ready, then?”

 

The party followed Hawke into the cave and the vampire watched them disappear around a corner.

 

That gave Volyn about two hours to himself. He planned on spending it wisely.

 

* * *

 

 

Two men were playing cards by the light of a lamp. The game was played on a small crate they’d pulled between them, probably coming from the keep Volyn saw to their right. Each was wearing leather and, presumably, iron armor. One had an axe attached to his beltloop, while the other carried a quiver and a short sword. A bow was leaned against the crate, strung and ready for use.

 

Carefully, Volyn sat his pack down amongst the rocks and started his approach. A few deliberately heavy steps on the loose stones caught their attention and the archer was the first to rise, short sword drawn. With a small smile on his face, Volyn pulled his own sword.

 

“What in the Maker’s name are _you_?” the larger man asked, sounding more offended than anything else, as if Volyn’s existence were an annoyance.

 

The archer moved in, dodging Volyn’s first strike and attempting one of his own. One fluid motion took the vampire out of the way and he stabbed out at the opening left by the archer’s attack, sword sinking through the hardened leather and into flesh thanks. The man fell groaning to the ground, a four-inch-deep wound in his side.

 

His companion rushed the vampire, but that was a mistake on his part. Volyn ducked beneath the swing of the man’s axe and shoved his sword upward and into the big man’s lung. He dropped the axe and looked down at the sword in his chest, just before it was withdrawn with a grisly crunch. Brown eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed.

 

The archer was attempting to get back to his feet, but Volyn kicked him square in the chest and held him against the ground. A glare came his way, but the vampire ignored it, leaning down over the man.

 

“You’re going to die. Face it with some dignity,” the dark elf told him.

 

The blond-haired archer spat at him, causing some recoil, and attempted to stab him. Volyn caught his wrist and broke it, instantly making the man drop the weapon. The vampire threw it away from them, hearing it clang against the side of the cliff.

 

“What kind of demon are you?” the man asked.

 

“No demon,” the vampire replied, “Just a monster.”

 

Lightning fast, Volyn went for the archer’s throat. He felt a hand on his face, trying to push him away and get at his eyes. Screams were deafening in his ears. A hand over the archer’s mouth helped.

 

At some point, the human lost his strength to fight. By the time Volyn left him, he was struggling to breathe and there were tears running down the sides of his face.

 

He couldn’t hear the whistling breaths of his friend anymore and knew he’d died. Even his attacker had left him, snuffing the light from the lantern on his way out.

 

The archer realized he was going to die alone.

 

The night was closing in.

 

Wolves howled in the distance.

 

He would have cried, if he’d had the strength.

 

* * *

 

 

After making camp that night, Velthorn explained what exactly was happening regarding the Wardens, and Volyn told everyone what he’d seen while scouring the countryside.

 

“Red Templars are camping by a cave northeast of here. Not too hard to spot, considering they apparently grow red crystals from the ground everywhere they go,” the vampire explained, “And bandits are to the west, holed up in some old keep.”

 

“What are Red Templars doing all the way out here?” Cassandra questioned.

 

“And how much farther is this damn lyrium going to spread?” Varric asked, mostly to himself.

 

Volyn shrugged. “They seemed to be mining veridium from the cave, but I’m not sure why they’d do it here, of all places. Surely there are larger deposits elsewhere.”

 

“Whatever their intentions, we’ll have to take care of them while we’re out here,” Velthorn said, “We’ll head into Crestwood tomorrow and establish a base of operations, then see what we can do about the bandits and Templars.”

 

With that decided, dinner got underway.

 

* * *

 

 

Velthorn hesitated before he approached Dorian and sat next to him. They hadn’t spoken much since the day in the Skyhold garden, which the elf hated. He liked all of his companions, and Dorian’s friendship was one he valued most.

 

Even in his Clan, Velthorn had always been a bit different from the other boys. He’d been curious about everything, questioning everything he was taught by instinct. While others had been busy wrestling or practicing archery or other such activities, he’d been digging into the books obtained by their traders.

 

Despite their very different upbringings, the elf knew Dorian was the same. Velthorn had never known anyone quite like him.

 

“Inquisitor,” Dorian greeted him.

 

Velthorn gnawed his lip nervously. “I…wanted to apologize. For the way I treated you. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately, but that’s no reason to snap at you and I’d understand if you’re rather cross with me.”

 

Dorian regarded him for a long moment. “You…think I’m angry with you?”

 

“Well, I’m not entirely sure. I’ve never been very good with…people. Human, dwarf, elf…I’ve always tried my best, but I’m never certain about anything.”

 

Dorian laughed. “If there’s anything I’ve learned about people, is that _nobody_ can really tell what another is thinking.” He turned slightly to look at Velthorn. “I’m not angry with you. I didn’t even know if you _wanted_ to talk to me.”

 

The elf blinked. “I like talking with you. You…understand things that others don’t. I’m met very few people like that.”

 

“And what exactly is it that I understand?” the other mage asked.

 

“That the world isn’t just what we see, and that we know next to nothing about it,” Velthorn said.

 

* * *

 

 

It started raining sometime during the night, hindering their progress toward Crestwood. That turned out to be the least of it. As they came over the hill separating them from the village, they saw the vast expanse of the lake, and the mysterious green lights coming right from the center of it.

 

“That looks like it’s going to be a problem,” Varric said.

 

“Is that what I think it is?” Bull asked.

 

“If you’re thinking of a Rift in the lake, then yes, I believe it is,” Solas replied.

 

 _Nothing can ever be simple_ , Velthorn thought.


End file.
